


The Biblical Sense

by sevenfists



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Feelings, M/M, Pining, Porn, bond of convenience?, marriage of convenience without the marriage part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 20:00:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 57,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10043912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenfists/pseuds/sevenfists
Summary: “Sid, I’m so—I’m sorry,” Geno said. “My stupid—I’m ruin everything, I—”“Shut up, Geno,” Sidney said, already intensely weary of listening to Geno’s self-recrimination. “You’ve barely even done anything.”Geno’s voice dropped what sounded like an entire octave. “But I want to.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set at the beginning of the current (2016-2017) season, inspired by Sid’s concussion (or, as I posit here, “concussion”). I took some liberties with the actual events of the season (and eventually gave up on keeping track of who was injured at what point, because Jesus), but the parts that aren’t bogus are mostly accurate.

It hit him at the beginning of the third period, as abruptly and unmistakably as a light switching on. It had been years, but he knew at once what was happening. The sudden throbbing heat between his legs could only mean one thing. Sidney wobbled on his skates, his stick lax in his hands. 

Of all the fucking times—  
   
Horny blew past him with the puck, and Sidney clenched his jaw and followed. 

The game wasn’t going well: they were down two against the Red Wings, and it was only the preseason, but Sidney hated losing under any circumstances. He held it together through two line changes, hunched over on the bench and trying not to shiver, and then Detroit took a penalty and Sullivan started bellowing and Sidney followed Kessel over the boards onto the ice. 

Muscle memory took over. He had spent his whole career preparing for this exact moment, hoping it would never happen but knowing that he couldn’t rule it out. He was shaking, but he was holding it together, he _had_ this, he—somehow—had the puck. The fans were screaming. He deked left, circled around the net, and nudged the puck in.  

The crowd roared. Sidney let his momentum carry him into the boards. He slammed hard into the glass and stayed there, gloves raised to press against his helmet. His head ached. His leggings were damp in the crotch, clinging and uncomfortable. 

Geno reached him first, slamming into him with an excited shout. He grabbed the back of Sidney’s jersey and spun him around, tugged Sidney into his arms. “Great goal! Sid—” 

Sidney knew the precise moment Geno realized what was happening. Geno went still, and tipped Sidney’s head back to look him in the eye. His nostrils flared, scenting, and Sidney could smell _him_ all of a sudden, musky and sweaty. Sidney felt his body go hot all over and told himself it was only shame. 

Then Geno was wheeling around to roar at Kessel and Tanger as they approached, one arm slashing through the air to keep them at bay. His other hand was still cupped around Sidney’s elbow. 

Sidney closed his eyes and let it happen. The game wasn't over yet, but for him, for the night, it was.

\+ + +

He had to be helped off the ice, which was humiliating, and then a couple of the trainers bundled him back into the trainers’ room. They were both betas, like most of the training and coaching staff, and Sidney wondered, not for the first time, if that was because of him, if contingency plans had been in place all along. Probably. No one in the organization was a fool.

The trainers helped him strip out of his gear, gave him a bottle of orange juice and a granola bar, and then, mercifully, left. He curled up on one of the exam tables and tried not to think about anything. His dick was so hard it hurt. He squeezed his thighs together a few times and then forced himself to stop. He couldn’t do anything about it there. 

Dr. Vyas came in after a while, his face creased with gentle concern. Sidney would rather have died than suffer through the conversation they were about to have. 

The doctor pulled a chair over and took a seat. He lifted one of Sidney’s limp hands and took his pulse, two fingers pressed to Sidney’s wrist. Dr. Vyas smelled like nothing, like shampoo and laundry detergent, and that was the only reason Sidney could bear his touch. 

“Well, Sidney,” Dr. Vyas said, and sighed.  

Sidney was sweating, flushed, and still hard. He drew his knees further toward his chin, hoping to hide his erection. They both knew he was hard, but he didn’t see any reason to advertise it. “Why aren’t the suppressants working?” His voice cracked, as if the day hadn’t been humiliating enough already. 

“That was never meant to be a long-term solution,” Dr. Vyas said. “To suppress your heats for so long—”

“I don’t have a choice,” Sidney said. This was a well-worn argument between them, both of their parts rote by now. Sidney could speak his lines without thinking. 

Dr. Vyas sighed again. “The summers—”

“I have to train,” Sidney said. “I can’t…” He couldn’t waste months every summer muddling through heat cycles when he needed to be hitting the gym and the rink every single day. There was never any time for a vacation. He had to prove himself again each year, each time he stepped on the ice. “I don’t have time for this.”

“That can be debated,” Dr. Vyas said, “but I’ll leave that to management. For now, we’ll try you on different suppressants. It’s possible that a different drug will be effective.”

“Can I play?” Sidney asked, because that was the only thing that mattered. 

“After your heat breaks, maybe. But you’re cycling now, and we can’t say how that will play out on the ice.” Dr. Vyas looked him over, frowning. “Someone will drive you home. Call me when the heat passes. We’ll try you in practice and see how it goes.”

“Okay,” Sidney said. His thoughts felt like cotton candy, thin and threaded. “Did we lose the game?”

They lost the game, 5-2. Sidney sweated and trembled in the trainers’ room while Dr. Vyas went off to talk with the coaching staff and the team. He closed his eyes and tried to rest, but he couldn’t focus on anything but the fire in his belly, burning slightly hotter with each passing moment. 

Someone knocked on the doorframe. “Uh… Sid?”

He looked up. It was Flower, with Tanger behind him. He had known them both for a decade and trusted them without question, but he couldn’t help the way he tensed at the sight of the two of them hovering in the doorway. He wasn’t worried about _them_ —Tanger was an alpha, and  _really_ smelled like it just then; but he was happily bonded, and had never shown much interest in men anyway—but he was worried about himself, what he might say or do. He didn’t have much of an idea of how he would behave during heat. 

Flower gave him a sympathetic look. “Don’t worry, we won’t come in. Vyas warned us. We wanted to say hi, and let you know that the guys are all worried about you." 

“You got several offers of help,” Tanger said. “Kuni says he’ll go gay for you." 

Sidney choked out a laugh. Kuni was a beta; he would be safe, at least. “Tell Kuni he shouldn’t make promises he doesn’t intend to keep.” He hated that the whole team knew what was happening to him, but there was no way they could have missed it. Not with how Geno tried to follow him off the ice, arguing with the trainers until Kessel and Horny dragged him away. 

“Mario’s going to take you home,” Flower said. “Once he finishes talking with Sully. He said ten more minutes at most.” 

Sidney nodded. “Thanks, guys.” He swallowed around the unexpected lump in his throat. “I’m sorry about the game. And, uh. This.”

“Don’t you dare,” Flower said fiercely. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Tanger nodded agreement. “Take care of yourself, Sid. We’ll see you when you get back.”

Sidney swallowed again. He had been under the media’s microscope since before he was even drafted—the league’s first omega was a story no journalist could pass up—but even after all of that, the years of bullshit, the speculation, the endless drama, other teams’ asshole fans, his guys always supported him. He thought, maybe, that this would be the final straw for them, a captain who was no good on the ice or off it. But they hadn’t given up on him yet.

\+ + +

Mario didn’t make him talk at all on the drive home, a small mercy for which Sidney would be forever grateful. Mario helped him into the back seat, and Sidney lay there, shivering harder, watching streetlights pass by and trying not to touch himself through his pants. He kept thinking of Geno’s hand on his elbow, of the way Geno had cursed loudly at the referee who came to help until the man backed off, hands raised, placating.

It wasn’t until Mario pulled into Sidney’s driveway that he finally spoke. “I wish you would come home for a few days.”

Sidney had to smile. He had moved out years ago, but Mario never stopped treating him like part of the family. “Thanks, but I, uh. I think I’m better off on my own right now.”

“Well, call me tomorrow, then,” Mario said. “Let me know how you’re doing.”

“I will,” Sidney said. He sat up and unbuckled his seatbelt. His knees felt wobbly, but he hoped Mario wouldn't offer to help him to the door. “Thanks for the ride.”

Once he was in the house, with the door shut and locked behind him, he sank to his knees, shoved his hand down his sweatpants, and got himself off in a dozen rough, frantic strokes. 

It took the edge off, but only barely. 

He was too hot, overheated, sweating in the cool air of his entryway. He lay down and shoved his sweatpants to his knees. The skin behind his balls was sticky with a combination of fresh and drying slick, and it only got slicker as he slid his fingers back even further. He pushed a finger into his wet hole and curled it just so, just the way he liked it, and rocked his hips against his hand until he came again, imagining what—what someone would think to see him sprawled on the floor like this, thighs parted, cock red and wet and tight against his belly. 

He lay on the floor until he caught his breath. He was still hard; it would be a long night. 

\+ + +

He woke to a room filled with sunshine. He’d forgotten to close the curtains the night before. His heat had broken.

Sidney turned onto his back and stretched. He was a little stiff, but not too bad. He fumbled his phone off the nightstand and checked the time. After ten. Practice wasn’t until noon. Maybe Dr. Vyas would clear him. 

He had concerned text messages from Nathalie, Taylor, Nate, Duper—who was in Montreal, but the French-Canadian phone tree had never been foiled by international borders. Kuni had emailed him a picture of three puppies wearing Santa hats. Sidney rolled his eyes. 

He called Mario first. It went to voicemail, which wasn’t too surprising. Mario usually had meetings in the morning. “It’s me,” Sidney said. “I’m fine. I’ll be at the rink later.” He paused, trying to think if there was anything else he should say. He felt like he’d covered everything. “Okay, bye.”

His next call was to Dr. Vyas, who answered. “Sidney,” he said, voice warm. 

“Hi,” Sidney said. “I’m, uh. My heat broke.”

“That was fast,” Dr. Vyas said, sounding surprised. “Is that typical for you?”

“I guess,” Sidney said. “I don’t really know.” He had gone on suppressants only a couple of months after he started cycling, and his initial heats had been so erratic that he couldn’t use them as a guideline. 

“You won’t be skating today,” Dr. Vyas said, with a finality that Sidney knew better than to argue against, “but I’d like you to come in for an examination, and we’ll see how the rest of the team reacts to you now that your heat has ended.”

Geno, he meant. He wanted to see how Geno would react. The Penguins, like all professional sports teams, had a disproportionate number of alphas—the current roster had five—but they were all bonded aside from Geno. If he and Sidney couldn’t be on the ice together— 

There was no reason to borrow trouble. It would be fine. They had played together for years with no problems.  

But the way Geno had reacted to his heat— 

Sidney exhaled. “Sure. I need to take a shower. And probably eat something. I’ll be there in an hour.”

He showered quickly and picked up breakfast on his way to UPMC, stuffing his mouth at red lights. The sooner he was cleared, the sooner he would be back on the ice. 

Dr. Vyas was in his office, scowling at his computer, but his face smoothed into a smile when Sidney knocked at the open door. “Sidney, you made it. How are you feeling?”

Sidney shrugged and leaned against the door jamb, hands in his pockets. “Okay. It was a short heat, like you said. I think I’m a little dehydrated, but that’s all.”  

“Let’s have a look. The exam room across the hall, please.”

Sidney was poked and prodded, peed in a cup, gave two vials of blood, and at the end of it Dr. Vyas shrugged and said, “Your hormone levels are elevated, but that’s to be expected so soon after your heat. I’ll start you on your new suppressants today. Take the first pill now and another one with dinner, and then once a day with food.”

“How soon will it start working?” Sidney asked. 

“ _If_ it works,” Dr. Vyas said, “we’ll know within a couple of weeks. We’ll need a saliva sample daily to test your hormone levels.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” Sidney asked. 

“Then we’ll try something else,” Dr. Vyas said. “You’ll have to be patient. I know that isn’t easy for you.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Practice should be ending soon. I’ll have your prescription filled, and then you can go down to the locker room.” He gave Sidney a serious look. “Be careful. I’ve asked Kris to stay close and intervene if necessary.”

“I don’t really think that’s called for,” Sidney said stiffly.  

“Most likely it isn’t,” Dr. Vyas agreed. “I’ve known Geno for a long time, and I don’t believe he would do anything he might have cause to regret.”

Sidney looked away. It was the first time anyone had mentioned Geno’s name. “But?”

“I didn’t see what happened between you during the game,” Dr. Vyas said. “But I’ve heard about it from several people who did, and it’s clear to me that Geno is very interested in you. And—forgive me—I can’t help but wonder whether his interest is returned.”

Sidney had no idea how to respond to that. He looked down at his hands, picking at a hangnail. 

Dr. Vyas sighed. “So. We exercise caution, hope for the best, and take this one day at a time.” When Sidney still wouldn’t look at him, he added, more gently, “I promise you I will do everything in my power to keep you both on the ice.”

Sidney barked out a humorless laugh. “I’m that transparent, eh?”

“Geno has a very good contract,” Dr. Vyas said.

“I know,” Sidney said. “Yeah. I know. It’s just…”

“I understand. You worry about your team,” Dr. Vyas said. “You’re a good captain. This is an awkward situation, but no one has done anything wrong. Management has agreed to defer to me for the time being. You’re day-to-day for now, but if all goes smoothly, I’ll consider clearing you to play on Saturday.”

Sidney perked up at that. “I won’t have to miss any games?”

“ _If_ ,” Dr. Vyas said. “I’m not making any promises, so please don’t get excited.”

“I won’t,” Sidney said, although it was mostly a lie. 

He took the first of his new suppressants under Dr. Vyas’ watchful eye, and then he went downstairs to the locker room. He could tell from the cheerful commotion as he approached that the team had finished practice.  

He hesitated in the doorway, oddly nervous. There was nothing strange about being in the locker room despite missing practice. Guys who weren’t playing due to injuries were still expected to show up. And if they all knew what he had been doing the night before—well, it was perfectly natural, and nothing to be ashamed of. 

But he was still out there waffling when Olli spotted him and began waving enthusiastically, calling out, “Sid! Sid’s here!”

Across the room, Geno’s head snapped up. 

It was impossible not to notice how heavy-lidded and dark his eyes were. Sidney couldn’t look away, even when half the team swarmed him, laughing and clapping him on the back, making various disgusting comments and chirping him gently about his heat. Geno stayed seated on the bench, his gaze heavy as a touch, and Sidney was so painfully aware of him that Flower said his name three times before it registered. 

“Huh?” Sidney said, like a fool, and then silently cursed himself, because Flower immediately looked to see what Sidney had been gaping at: Geno, shirtless and sweaty, staring at Sidney like he wanted to drag Sidney down to the floor and claim him. 

“Ah, Christ,” Flower said, and turned to say something in French to Tanger, too low and quick for Sidney to make out. Tanger nodded and beelined for Geno. 

“Flower, come on,” Sidney said, and Hags, overhearing, said, “What? You giving this guy a hard time, Flower?”

So Sidney had to let it go. He half-listened to something Kuni was saying about practice, the whole time watching over Sheary’s shoulder as Tanger put a hand on Geno’s arm and bent over him. Geno was still staring at Sidney, but after a few moments he began nodding in response to whatever Tanger was saying to him, and after a minute more he finally looked away. 

Sidney exhaled sharply, feeling like the air had been punched out of him. 

Flower gave him a look. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Sidney said. His heart was pounding the way it did after a bag skate.  

“Let’s go to lunch,” Flower said, and elbowed a few of the younger guys out of the way. “Give your captain some breathing room. Nobody wants to smell you jerks right now. Go shower.”

“Flower stinks!” someone yelled. 

“I smell incredible,” Flower said, and firmly steered Sidney out of the room. 

Sidney braced himself for the inevitable lecture, but Flower only said, far less judgmentally than Sidney expected, “It’s going to be okay, Sid.”

“Sure,” Sidney said. 

Flower shook his head. “You want sandwiches? We can go to that place with the good sandwiches.”

Sidney wasn’t hungry at all. “Sure,” he said. “Sandwiches sound good.”

\+ + +

He showed up before practice the next day to spit in a tube for Dr. Vyas. 

“I had an interesting conversation with Mr. Letang yesterday,” Dr. Vyas said while they waited for the lab results. 

“Oh?” Sidney said, aiming for nonchalant and landing somewhere around panicked. Dr. Vyas only used people’s last names when someone had disappointed him. Sidney had a feeling it wasn’t Tanger. 

“It seems that Mr. Malkin is still reacting to your scent,” Dr. Vyas said. “Fascinating! What a remarkable thing. One would think that my patient would have shared this information with me himself.”

Dr. Vyas had really mastered the art of the guilt trip. Sidney reminded himself that he was closing in on thirty and didn’t need anyone’s approval. “I wanted you to clear me,” he said, hearing the note of complaint in his voice and hating himself a little bit. 

“I still may,” Dr. Vyas conceded. “Let’s see how practice goes today.” He gave Sidney a stern look over the top of his reading glasses. “And I expect a full report from you afterward.”

“Right,” Sidney said. “Sorry.”

“Leave nothing omitted,” Dr. Vyas said. “No detail is too small.”

Sidney winced. “Sorry,” he said again. 

“Now get out of my office,” Dr. Vyas said, and Sidney scrammed. 

Practice wasn’t for another hour. Sidney warmed up on the bike and then spent a while on a mat on the floor, stretching his hips and hamstrings. A few of the guys wandered in and out, going into the trainers’ room or putting in some time on the bike. Sidney nodded at all of them without doing much to encourage conversation. He liked the newer guys, liked their current team, but there weren’t many people he felt comfortable discussing his sex life with. Because that was what all of this was about, fundamentally: who he had sex with, and when, and how. It was more interesting to everyone than his hockey and always had been. Sidney didn’t find it interesting at all. 

He changed and went out on the ice early to shoot some pucks. He felt—good, loose, coordinated. The heat didn’t seem to have any lingering effects. Aside from, well, Geno. Sidney still had no idea what to make of that entire situation and figured the best course of action was to ignore it until it went away. 

He went through a whole bucket of pucks and was gathering them up again when the team started trickling out onto the ice for practice: Horny and Hagelin, Kessel with Bonino and Cullen, Muzz and Flower debating something. Sidney certainly wasn’t waiting for anyone, but when Geno came out, Tanger close on his heels, Sidney dropped the puck he was holding and had to watch as it bounced halfway across the rink. 

“Very smooth,” Flower said. 

“Shut up,” Sidney said, well aware that he was turning red. 

Geno watched him all through practice but kept his distance. Sidney tried to pretend he wasn’t watching right back, but from the knowing looks Flower kept shooting him, he wasn’t succeeding too well. 

It was only Geno, he told himself firmly.  

He was one of the first off the ice after practice, unwilling to linger for the usual bullshitting around when he felt Geno’s silent presence like a hook tugging at the back of his neck. He spent a long time on the bike, well past the point of cooling down, watching endless college football highlights on one of the televisions mounted to the ceiling. When he finally went to shower, the place was pretty cleared out. Dumoulin, shaving over the sink, nodded companionably at Sidney as he went through to the showers. 

Geno would be gone by the time he was done. If nothing happened, there was nothing to report to Dr. Vyas, and no reason he couldn’t play. 

But Geno wasn’t gone. 

He was sitting in his stall, dressed in street clothes and scowling at his phone. The locker room was otherwise empty, and Sidney experienced a kind of slow falling sensation, like sinking down into a pool. He could smell Geno from all the way across the room. 

He needed to turn around and leave before Geno saw him, because otherwise there wasn’t a chance in hell they would both be playing on Saturday. 

“Hi,” Sidney’s mouth said. 

Geno looked up. His eyes widened as he saw Sidney. He rose to his feet. “Sid,” he said. “I think you left.”

Sidney was cycling, he was mostly naked, and he was alone in a room with a very large, very dominant male alpha. It was the sort of situation he’d heard dire warnings about his entire life. 

He took two steps forward and tilted his chin up and to the right, baring his throat.

Geno was on him at once. He curled his hands around Sidney’s hips, fingertips dipping down below the edge of Sidney’s towel. “Sid,” he said again, his voice a deep rumble, and he lowered his head to nose at the soft, scent-rich skin behind Sidney’s ear. 

“Hey, Geno, do you—what the fuck,” someone said, and Sidney turned his head to see Kuni standing in the doorway. 

There was no pretending this was anything but exactly what it was: Sidney's towel close to making a break for it, Geno’s big hands all over him, Geno’s mouth on his neck, two heartbeats away from biting his claim into Sidney’s skin. 

“Uh, guys,” Kuni said. 

Geno swore in Russian and pushed Sidney away, staggering backward. 

“Come on, Sid,” Kuni said, giving Geno a dark look that he didn’t really deserve. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Sidney thought about protesting, or trying to explain, but it was easier just to go.

\+ + +

Geno called him that evening, when Sidney was in the middle of cleaning up after dinner. He dried his hands on a dish towel and answered, feeling his heart stutter in his chest when he saw Geno’s name on his phone. “What’s up, G?”

“Hey, Sid,” Geno said, and he sounded like a complete wreck, his voice ragged. 

Christ. They were going to have this conversation after all. 

“Sid, I’m so—I’m sorry,” Geno said. “My stupid—I’m ruin everything, I—” 

“Shut up, Geno,” Sidney said, already intensely weary of listening to Geno’s self-recrimination. “You’ve barely even done anything.”

Geno’s voice dropped what sounded like an entire octave. “But I want to.”

 _Christ_. Sidney braced himself against the counter with his free hand. “Geno…”

“Sorry, okay, sorry,” Geno said. “I talk with Tanger, talk with Flower, they say they help out, keep me away from you, not—” 

“Geno,” Sidney interrupted. “My heat’s over. I’m on new suppressants now. It won’t be a problem.”  

“Suppressants are not working,” Geno said. “I still smell you. Can’t help. Smell like—” He made a frustrated noise. “You know what you smell like to me? Can’t believe, I’m distracted all through practice, then you’re in locker room and it’s too much.”

“That was my fault,” Sidney said. “I shouldn’t have… you know.” Showing his throat like that was just about the most provocative thing he could have done short of outright dropping his towel. He hadn’t gotten this much attention from Geno in literal years, and it was doing a real number on his self-control. 

“ _I_ shouldn’t have,” Geno said. “Kuni yell at me so much and I know he’s right. It’s my responsibility stay away from you.”  

Sidney ground his teeth. He’d never had to put up with this sort of bullshit from Geno, who as far as he could tell had totally missed the memo about omegas being delicate and in need of constant protection. “Where are you getting this from? Did Kuni tell you that?”  

“Yes, Kuni say,” Geno admitted. 

“Kuni needs to mind his own business,” Sidney said, annoyed. “And so do Flower and Tanger. I don’t need those idiots trying to take care of me.”

“They worry,” Geno said. “And I’m worry too. My fault you can’t play.”

“It’s not your fault at all,” Sidney said, setting aside his own worry and discomfort. Reassuring his teammates was second nature by now. “Don’t be a moron. It’s not like you’re the only unbonded alpha in the league. What do you think, I don’t know,  _Giroux_ will do? You’re like—you’re my canary. Like in a mine.”

“Canary,” Geno repeated, sounding dubious. 

“Yeah, you know,” Sidney said, warming to the idea. “The way you react to me, that’s how we know if it’s okay for me to play. If you’re this interested, everyone else will be, too. So when you stop paying attention, that’s when Dr. Vyas will clear me.”

There was a long silence. “Okay,” Geno said at last. 

“Okay,” Sidney said. “Don’t let those guys rile you up, seriously. Dr. Vyas isn’t worried about you and neither am I.” He swallowed. “We should probably, uh. Try to stay away from each other for a while, though.”  

Geno groaned. “I’m already try! Sid—” 

“Yeah, I know, I know, sorry,” Sidney said. “Okay. Well. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Geno made a grumbling noise and hung up. 

Sidney inhaled, exhaled, and finished doing the dishes.

\+ + +

He went to the arena in the morning as soon as he got up, knowing that he didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell after that performance in the dressing room yesterday, but hoping Dr. Vyas would clear him anyway.

His saliva betrayed him. “Your hormone levels are up,” Dr. Vyas said, frowning at the lab results. “Quite a bit from yesterday, actually. How do you feel?”

Sidney shrugged, trying to tamp down his distress. “The same.”

“Well, you certainly aren’t playing tonight,” Dr. Vyas said. 

“I feel fine,” Sidney protested. 

“Your levels are at pre-heat,” Dr. Vyas said. “If Geno is any indication, there would be a riot by the end of the first period.” He gave Sidney a sympathetic look. “I’ll speak with Mike. My word isn’t final, of course, but I expect you’ll be scratched from tonight’s game.”

“Right,” Sidney said. “Okay.” This was the concussion all over again: nothing tangible, nothing he could work on, only an endless hell of waiting and hoping his body would fix itself. 

He participated in morning skate, doing his best to pretend that nothing was wrong. He wasn’t doing a great job of it, if the way the way Flower kept patting his shoulder was any indication. 

Sullivan pulled him aside afterward. “Let’s go upstairs,” he said quietly. “Mario and Jim want to have a chat.”

Sidney followed Sullivan upstairs feeling like he was marching toward his own funeral. Jim and Mario were waiting in Jim’s office; they looked grim.  

“Have a seat, Sidney,” Mario said, and Sidney sat. 

Jim, never one to mince words, got right down to business. “We’re going to announce that you have a concussion. You’re benched until Dharmesh gets your suppressants worked out. There are too many hotheaded assholes in the league for us to be willing to expose you to that sort of risk.”

“I understand,” Sidney said, because he did, of course he did. Times were changing—his position in the league was proof of that—but there were still plenty of people who thought omegas had no place in public life and should do nothing but stay home and breed. It would look bad for the Penguins to do anything that appeared to put Sidney in any danger. “And if you—” He cleared his throat and tried again. “If the organization decides to trade me, I’ll cooperate fully.” 

Jim sat back, eyebrows lifting. “That isn’t on the table right now.”  

Mario said, “I’d like a moment to speak with Sidney in private, if you gentlemen don’t mind.”

“Jim, I’ve got some interesting tape to show you,” Sullivan said, and they went out. 

Mario drew his chair closer to Sidney’s. “Help me out here. How did you get from being scratched to _being traded_?”

Sidney drew in a breath. “I can’t play if I’m cycling. And if the new suppressants don’t work, then I’m. I can’t play. So.”

Mario was watching him very closely. “Sidney,” he said. “You’ve led this team to two Cup victories. Surely you can’t think that you still have to prove yourself.”

“I don’t,” Sidney said, probably too quickly. 

“Hmm,” Mario said, looking like he didn’t believe Sidney at all.  

“It’s just, you know,” Sidney said. 

“Go on,” Mario said. 

“I can’t play,” Sidney said, the words tearing out of him. “So then I’m not Sidney Crosby, I’m not a hockey player, I’m just some—some omega who can’t even—” 

“Oh, Sidney,” Mario said. 

Sidney was appalled to feel hot tears pricking at his eyes. He clenched his jaw and stared down at his lap until the feeling subsided. 

“Why don’t you come over for dinner tomorrow night,” Mario said. “Nathalie would love to see you. The house is too quiet without the kids around.”

“I can’t believe they’ve gotten so old,” Sidney said, smiling despite himself. 

“Time flies,” Mario said. “Sidney. You will never be traded.”

“I know,” Sidney said. 

“Do you?” Mario asked. “We will never trade you. You will retire a Penguin. This entire franchise is built around you. You are without a doubt the best active player in the world. There are six other omegas in the league now, thanks to the precedent you’ve set.” He was quiet for a moment. “I wish I could go back in time and throttle your father.”

Sidney looked up, surprised. He had always suspected that Mario disliked his father, but Mario had never said anything about it. 

“You’re doing a good job, Sidney,” Mario said. “A _great_ job. Your teammates love and respect you. I’m very proud of the man you’ve become. I know your father did what he thought was right, but I wish he had given you more confidence in your value as a person.”

“My father wants me to be successful,” Sidney said stiffly. 

“He should also want you to be happy,” Mario said. “But I’m making you uncomfortable; I apologize. I shouldn’t criticize your parents. Please stop worrying about your place on the team. No matter what happens, you’ll always have a home in Pittsburgh.”

“Thanks, Mario,” Sidney said, and if he sounded a little choked up, well. Mario wouldn’t tell anyone.

\+ + +

He watched the game from the press box: a frustrating loss made more frustrating in a different way by watching Geno barrel around the ice like he had something to prove. Sidney had to go to the washroom after Geno scored and splash cold water on his face. It hadn’t even been a particularly impressive goal.

The next morning, his hormone levels had increased even more. 

“I’m calling a specialist,” Dr. Vyas said, already picking up the phone to dial. 

The organization’s clout got him an appointment that same day. He drove downtown to a nondescript high-rise near the university. It was a beautiful fall day, sunny and still warm, summer’s last gasp before the long gray months of winter. 

The doctor was a small, silver-haired woman maybe a decade older than his parents. She was an omega, and her scent immediately put Sidney at ease in a way he didn’t expect. He had never spent much time around other omegas; his father had been worried that he would pick up bad habits. Even now, Tanger’s wife was the only omega he saw on a regular basis. 

Maybe Mario had a point about his father. 

“It’s very nice to meet you, Sidney,” the doctor said, smiling and offering her hand. She reminded him a little of his grandmother. “I’m Anne Calloway.”

“Thank you for fitting me in on such short notice,” Sidney said.  

“Heat crises can occur without warning,” she said. “I keep space in my schedule for just that reason.”

Sidney shifted in his seat. He didn’t like the thought that what he was going through counted as a crisis. 

“That’s a medical term, Sidney,” Dr. Calloway said gently. “Now, if you’ll forgive me, I’ll spend a few minutes looking over your file. The only problem with short notice is that I didn’t have a chance to review things before you arrived.”

Sidney looked out the window while Dr. Calloway flipped through the paperwork Dr. Vyas had sent over and made a few notes. There wasn’t much to see: the building across the street, a few pigeons perched on a ledge. 

“All right,” Dr. Calloway said at last, and closed the folder. “I’m certain Dharmesh already gave you a lecture about suppressing your heat cycles for so long, so I won’t repeat it. Moving forward, you must go into heat at least once a year, preferably twice. That isn’t optional, and I’ll be sure all of your physicians are aware of my recommendation.”

“It’s really inconvenient,” Sidney said, trying to explain himself. 

She gave him a look. “Believe me, I’m well aware.”

Based on her age, she was probably among the first omegas to attend medical school. Sidney could imagine what that must have been like. “How have you managed?” he asked, and then winced and said, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you that.”

She smiled at him. “I’m not offended. I’ve been stubborn, largely. And there are many things I’ve sacrificed.” She didn’t smell bonded; Sidney wondered if that was what she meant. “I’m sure you know what it’s like to be the only omega in a room.”

All too well. “You have to make them forget you’re an omega,” he said. 

She cocked her head. “Is that so? I don’t want them ever to forget.”

Sidney stared at her, baffled. Why would anyone _want_ — 

“Now then,” she said briskly, moving right along. “In the short term, the main concern is regulating your heats. Dharmesh has been attempting to fully suppress your cycles and return you to null status. While I understand his reasoning, your health and fertility would be better served in the long run by allowing yourself to cycle naturally for a few months.”

His _fertility_? 

“Forgive me,” Dr. Calloway said, misinterpreting his expression. “You are of course under no obligation to want children.”

“No, I—I do,” Sidney admitted. “But I—it hasn't ever been an option. For me.”

“You’re allowed to be a man, a human person with a career and ambitions, and also an omega who wants children,” she said. “They aren’t mutually exclusive.” 

Sidney swallowed down his first response, which was to laugh bitterly, and also his second, which was to burst into tears. Of _course_ he wanted children, a family, true love, but he couldn’t have any of those things—not now, probably not until he retired, if then. The first hint of romance would derail his career with endless speculation about babies. Even the most liberal of people wouldn’t tolerate a pregnant omega on ice; he would be forced to quit playing to quell the public outcry. 

“Maybe someday,” he said at last. “But I can’t—I don’t have time to cycle right now. The season’s just started.”

“Going back on suppressants right away won’t do you any damage, but I do strongly encourage you to give yourself at least a month this summer. You’ve just experienced your first heat since the age of fifteen. It’s been almost fifteen years, Sidney. Inconvenient as they are, the demands of biology can’t be ignored forever.”

“I’ve been doing okay so far,” he muttered. 

“Yes, which is why your body is currently going haywire and failing to respond to suppressants,” Dr. Calloway said dryly. “Medically, there’s no reason these new suppressants shouldn’t be working. Unfortunately, heat is a poorly understood phenomenon, and there’s much we still don’t know.” She placed a hand on top of Sidney’s file. “I wonder if perhaps there’s a human element at work here.”

Sidney regarded her suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

“Dharmesh wrote about one of your teammates, a young man—an alpha,” she said. “Evgeni?”

Sidney flushed. He hadn’t realized Dr. Vyas put that in his notes. 

“Yes, I see,” Dr. Calloway said. “A mutual attachment is certainly a complicating factor.”

“It isn’t like that,” Sidney said. “He just likes the way I smell.”

Dr. Calloway raised an eyebrow at him. “At any rate, I suspect this is at least part of the reason your hormone levels aren’t dropping. Just as birth control won’t work if you’re already pregnant, suppressants won’t work if you’ve formed an attachment and your body is desperately trying to go into heat.”

“It’s not an attachment,” Sidney said. “I’m the only omega around, and he’s—confused.” 

“It’s only a hypothesis,” Dr. Calloway said. “I could certainly be wrong. However, if I’m correct, I’m afraid that no type or combination of suppressants will do you much good.”

“What are my options, then?” Sidney asked. “If you’re correct.”

“Mate with him,” she said, “or stay away long enough for the attachment to break. You’ll need to give it at least two weeks, more likely a month.”

Sidney allowed himself ten seconds to imagine sex with Geno and then forcibly shut that down. “Okay,” he said. “And if you’re wrong?”

“I agree with Dharmesh’s plan of treatment,” she said. “He’ll be in communication with me about dosages and medications. You’ll need to continue with daily monitoring of your hormone levels for the time being. I would prepare yourself for another heat within the next week or two. I would expect no more than a week based on your current levels.”

“That soon?” Sidney asked, reeling. Christ, he had _just_ gone through it. Most omegas didn’t experience heat more than two or three times a year. 

“I’m afraid so,” she said. “It’s not unexpected. If you were to cycle for a few months, things would settle down.” She hesitated. “Some people prefer not to go through heat alone. There are services…”

“That’s okay,” Sidney said quickly. The thought of going through that with a stranger made his skin crawl. “Uh, thank you, though.”

“Don’t hesitate to get in touch with me if you have any questions,” she said. “And good luck.”

\+ + +

He slept in the next morning and skipped practice to call his parents. The press statement about his concussion was going live at noon, and he didn’t want them to be caught off-guard. It went about as well as he expected: his mom fretted, his dad complained about the inferior medical care he was receiving. He found himself wishing that he  _did_ have a concussion, which at least didn’t require him to discuss his sex life with his parents.

“Tell that Dr. Vyas to put you on some stronger suppressants,” his dad said. “This is an important year for you and it’s no time to be sidelined with a silly problem like this.”

“For sure,” Sidney said. “Absolutely.”

By the time he got off the phone he was ready to go back to sleep for another three or four hours, but he needed to go to the rink to see Dr. Vyas, and then downtown in the afternoon for the Stanley Cup ring ceremony. He wasn’t feeling great: a little tired, a little out of sorts. He was tempted to skip the ceremony, but it was a big deal and the team would expect him to be there. He stopped on the way to the rink for another cup of coffee. 

His hormone levels were up again. He knew without being told, simply from the look on Dr. Vyas’s face. Nothing new there: he would go into heat within the next week, probably sooner. There was nothing to be done but wait it out. 

He went downstairs to the rink after Dr. Vyas turned him loose. The locker room had cleared out after practice; he had the ice to himself. He skated laps for a long time, thinking about nothing, and then went into the gym and deadlifted until his hands wouldn’t hold the bar. 

He felt a little better after that. Less tightly wound. He went home to eat and shower and change into a suit before he drove downtown for the ring ceremony. 

Most of the team was already there by the time he arrived. The Cup was set up outside on the rooftop terrace and everyone was mingling and drinking, enjoying the weather. Sidney snagged a glass of wine from a passing waiter, said hello to Sheary, dodged Cullen’s attempt at a bear hug, and then caught Geno’s eye from across the patio and had to take a quick step to the left to keep from running directly into Tanger’s back. 

“Hey, careful now,” Tanger said, steadying him with a hand on his arm. “Too much wine for you already?”

“No,” Sidney said, still staring at Geno, who looked entirely too good in his ugly gray suit.  

“Oh, boy,” Tanger said. “Come on, Flower has my wife, let’s go say hello to them. You can practice your bad French.” 

“It’s not _that_ bad,” Sidney said. Geno tipped his chin up a bare half an inch, unbelievably suggestive, his eyes fixed on Sidney’s. 

“It’s pretty bad,” Tanger said, and dragged him away. 

Vero and Catherine were happy to see him and Sidney killed some time listening to them talk about politics and yoga pants until Flower shut that down. “Sid’s ass is already a threat to diplomatic relations,” Flower said. “If we put him in yoga pants there will be an international incident. New topic.” 

“Fine, _you_ suggest something,” Vero said. “No hockey.” 

“And no fantasy football,” Catherine added. 

Tanger closed his mouth with an audible click. 

“Well, no need,” Flower said, “here comes our new conversational gambit right now,” and Sidney smelled Geno a few seconds before he felt Geno’s hand settle, big and warm, on his shoulder. 

“Sid! Glad to see you,” Geno said. “Vero, Catherine. Looking very beautiful today.” His thumb brushed against the side of Sidney’s neck, and Sidney had to suppress a shiver. 

“Geno, what an unexpected pleasure,” Vero said, so very dryly that Sidney shot a betrayed look at Flower, who had obviously spilled the beans. 

Geno dropped his hand then, thank God, and gave Vero his best smile. “Have to say hello to all beautiful ladies at the party. Babies at home?”

“Date night,” Catherine said. “Kris told me he’s taking my phone away if I text the sitter again!” 

Sidney lost track of the conversation, too distracted by Geno’s presence at his side, almost close enough to touch. Geno smelled like his going-out cologne, which Sidney had found appealing even before his suppressants stopped working, and also like he really wanted to have sex with Sidney and didn’t care who knew it. 

Sidney could feel a flush creeping up his neck and knew he needed to exit this situation ASAP. Based on the looks Catherine and Tanger kept giving him, he and Geno were being about as subtle as a freight train. He gave in and admitted it to himself: Geno’s continued and very blatant interest was both flattering and irresistible, and Sidney was feeling  _extremely_ receptive to Geno’s advances. He knew Geno could smell it on him, and that it was giving Geno encouragement he really didn’t need.  

“—talk to Sid for a minute,” Geno was saying. 

“You’re talking to him right now,” Flower said. 

“Not for you to hear,” Geno said firmly. “Sid, need more wine? Let’s get you some.”  

“Stay in sight at all times and no hanky panky,” Flower said. 

This was too much. “We’re both adults,” Sidney said. “We’re in public. What do you think is going to happen?” 

“Well,” Tanger said. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Sidney said, and walked off, Geno at his heels. 

They didn’t go far. Geno seemed to have taken Flower’s warning seriously, and he flagged down the nearest waiter and led Sidney to a shaded nook beside a potted tree, still within full view of Flower and Tanger, the worst people Sidney knew. 

“Good wine?” Geno asked, watching very intently as Sidney took a sip. 

“It’s good,” Sidney said. Geno was so close and he smelled _so_ good. Sidney could feel himself starting to slick up and prayed that Geno wouldn’t notice. 

“Sid, I think you go into heat soon,” Geno said quietly. “Few days, maybe.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Sidney said, frowning. 

“Too soon,” Geno said, and Sidney realized with a start that Geno was _worried_ about him. 

“It’s okay,” he said, trying to think of how to reassure Geno without going into the full details of his medical history. “It’s—I’m seeing a heat specialist, and Dr. Vyas, too. They think it’s okay.” 

“Okay,” Geno said, and screwed up his mouth in clear disbelief. 

“Really,” Sidney said. “It’s fine.” From the corner of his eye, he could see Flower and Tanger watching them intently, and he turned his head to scowl at them. Flower waved, completely unapologetic. 

“Not good to happen too much,” Geno said, and raised his eyebrows. “Frustrating for you.” 

Oh, God. “It’s fine. I can—I know how to deal with it.” 

“You need help?” Geno asked. “I can help you. Take good care.” 

Was he— “Are you, uh. Offering?” Sidney asked, because he needed to know exactly what Geno was implying. 

“Not like it’s first time,” Geno said, his eyes glittering. 

“What do you mean,” Sidney said, heart in his mouth, because— 

“You know,” Geno said. “You remember. After first Cup.” 

Sidney’s face immediately heated to the boiling point of water. He and Geno had so effectively pretended that night had never happened that Sidney had honestly been uncertain whether Geno even remembered it. But the expression on Geno’s face said he remembered every detail. 

“Yes,” Geno said. He raised his hand and touched Sidney’s jaw, trailed his fingers down the side of Sidney’s neck. “You remember.”

“Hands off, Geno,” Tanger barked out, and Sidney startled hard. He had completely forgotten there were other people on the terrace. 

Geno rolled his eyes but obediently stuffed his hands in his pockets. 

Sidney knew his face was bright red. Thank God the betas were scent-blind, but every alpha on the team had just learned exactly how much Sidney enjoyed Geno’s hands on him. 

Flower came over, smirking but still managing to look like he would tolerate absolutely no funny business, and said, “Time’s up, Malkin. You can’t monopolize the captain all evening.” 

“Okay,” Geno said, backing off, actually showing his throat to Flower a little, even though betas didn’t understand or care about any of the ritualized alpha-omega behaviors and generally thought the entire business was, to quote Flower, weird as shit. “Sid, offer is open. Any time. You let me know.”  

“Okay,” Sidney said, and with a massive exertion of willpower managed not to stare at Geno’s ass as he walked away. 

“That looked cozy,” Flower said, and patted Sidney’s arm. 

“I don’t want to hear it,” Sidney said. He needed another glass of wine.

\+ + +

He sort of expected Geno’s criminally flirtatious and possessive behavior to immediately trigger his heat, but in the end it took another five days. Sidney kept up with his workouts, skating alone in the mornings before practice and training with Andy after, and otherwise tried to keep himself from going stir-crazy. He didn’t want to leave the house too much for fear of some random alpha getting a sniff at him and blabbing it all over the internet. Despite the team’s chirping, he did have non-hockey-related interests, but there was only so much time he could spend playing video games without feeling like a useless lump. He spent a couple of days getting pretty intense about his fantasy football team until Olli actually called him and said, “Sid, you need to stop.”

“I just need to make one more trade,” Sidney said. 

“ _No_ ,” Olli said. “I’m cutting you off.”

So then he _really_ didn’t have anything to do. He watched a lot of tape and hassled the trainers about his tight hip flexors. He called Taylor and listened to her complain about her classes. He called Nate and listened to him gloat about his dog. He watched the Penguins beat the Capitals, and he went out with the team afterward for a moderately rowdy dinner during which Geno sat at a different table and didn’t look in Sidney’s direction a single time. Not that it mattered: Sidney could smell how interested he was. 

That was the only time he saw Geno in those five days. Geno texted him a few times, some light-hearted bullshit about practice, but aside from that they didn’t interact at all. He had no idea what was going on in Geno’s head and didn’t waste time trying to speculate. It was better for them to avoid each other anyway. 

He had dinner with Mario and Nathalie again, and volunteered to babysit for Flower and Vero so they could have a night out. The girls wore him out to the point that he fell asleep on the sofa before ten, and woke to see Flower and Vero standing over him, Vero laughing softly with one hand covering her mouth. 

“Sleeping Beauty,” Flower said. 

“Little kids are a lot of work,” Sidney said. 

“Don’t I know it,” Vero said, and bent down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Thanks, Sidney.”

She went upstairs. Sidney pushed himself upright, and Flower sat down on the sofa beside him and put his feet on the coffee table with a groan. “We’ve missed you at practice this week, my friend.” 

“It’s probably better for me to skate alone,” Sidney said. “You know.” 

“Yes, I know. The entire team knows. Everyone who has ever set foot in UPMC knows.” Flower grinned. “I’m sorry, Sidney. I know you wish you could play, and believe me, we all hope very much that you’ll be back on the ice soon. But it’s so entertaining to watch Geno walk into things.” 

“What,” Sidney said. 

“He ran into a door the other day,” Flower said. “It was closed. He walked right into it.” 

“I don’t think that has anything to do with me,” Sidney said. 

Flower gave him a look. “Have you tried having a conversation with Geno lately? There’s only one thing on his mind, and that’s getting you to beg for his knot.”

“Jesus, Flower,” Sidney said, shocked. He’d never heard Flower talk that way. 

“I’m sorry, _ma puce_ ,” Flower said, “but you must know it’s true.”

“I haven’t talked to him since the ring ceremony,” Sidney said. “Today he texted me a picture of a miniature gourd.” 

“Hmm,” Flower said. “Maybe a gourd to stand in for his penis? You know how Geno feels about dick pics.”

“I’m going home,” Sidney said, and left Flower laughing there on the couch.

\+ + +

The Penguins played the Ducks on Saturday. Sidney went to the arena at his normal time and spent a while talking to reporters: He was feeling okay, still day-to-day, proud of the work the team was doing, looking forward to getting back on the ice. He couldn’t fathom that anyone still cared what he had to say after all these years of listening to him spout bland platitudes, but the press never seemed to get tired of it.

“Thank Christ you’re here to do that so I don’t have to,” Kessel told him after, and slapped him on the back. 

“My pleasure, I guess,” Sidney said. 

Kessel grinned and started moving away down the corridor, but Sidney said, “Hey, Phil, wait a minute,” and he turned back and raised his eyebrows and said, “What’s up?”

“Can I ask you a question?” Sidney asked. 

“Uh, sure,” Kessel said. 

Sidney hesitated, gathering his thoughts. He liked Phil a lot—he was a grown-up and a steady presence on the team, but it was still awkward to talk about this with anyone. But he knew Phil would give him a straight answer. “This stuff with me and Geno,” he said at last. “Is it making things weird for the team?”

Kessel rocked back on his heels. “Uh, wow. Well, yeah, to some extent. It’s hard having you out, and now Geno’s walking into doors,” so apparently most of the team had seen that happen; great. “Most of the guys don’t really understand what’s happening, I guess.” He grinned. “Daley tried to explain it. He said Geno thinks you’re like the world’s most enticing cupcake, and then Geno fined him five hundred bucks.” 

“Daley’s an idiot,” Sidney said. “I would have fined him at least a thousand.” 

“Anyway, don’t worry about it,” Kessel said. “Nobody’s super freaked out or anything. Flower and Tanger are acting like it’s totally hilarious, so I think most of the guys are taking a cue from them.” 

“Well,” Sidney said, not at all reassured by the thought of Flower and Tanger yukking it up in his absence. “Thanks. Good luck tonight.” 

He watched the game from the press box. He had been feeling a little bit antsy all day, sort of restless inside his skin. The press box was warmer than usual; he was uncomfortable and sweaty. Partway through the third period he felt his dick taking an interest in nothing in particular and finally twigged to what was obviously going on.  

He was home in half an hour. He ate a turkey sandwich, chugged a few bottles of water, and made it upstairs and into his bed before the heat pulled him fully under. 

It wasn’t as overwhelming as the first time; maybe it got easier the more it happened. He jerked off for a while, until he was desperate for it, and then took out the dildo he’d ordered off the internet last week. He didn’t particularly enjoy getting fucked, never did it with the guys he hooked up with, but it was all he’d been able to think about during his last heat, and it was all he wanted now. 

The dildo slid in with little resistance. It felt unbelievably good, long and thick inside of him. He squirmed around the bed, trying to find the best angle. He turned from his back onto his stomach, and that was—that was even better, his knees spread, ass in the air— _presenting_.  

He let himself imagine it: sex with Geno. After what Geno had said to him before the ring ceremony, he knew Geno wanted him thinking about it. He had been so careful, for _years_ , to never think about it, but of course he knew exactly how big Geno’s dick was, still remembered the exact sound he made when he came. They’d only screwed around the one time, a drunken and ill-considered fumble a few days after they won the Cup, but Sidney hadn’t forgotten a thing.  

He thought of Geno behind him on the bed, his hands on Sidney’s hips, his cock deep in Sidney’s ass, and everything was hot and slick and overwhelming and Sidney came, trembling, with a choked-off moan. 

It wasn’t enough. He pressed the dildo in deeper and ground his hips back into the firm unyielding pressure of it. He wanted everything, Geno’s mouth at the nape of his neck, Geno muttering in Russian the way he had that once. There was no air in the room, just a rising urgency coiling low in his belly, a tension he couldn’t escape. He thought of that one time with Geno, the first time, how out of control he’d felt, unaware that his body could experience so much pleasure. He felt pretty out of control now, remembering it. 

He came again, squeezing powerfully around the dildo, his face hot, nothing in his head but Geno. 

That was the end of it; the heat passed. Sidney slumped to the mattress, wrung out and a little, well, dissatisfied. The whole thing had taken less than an hour, barely a heat at all, and Geno was still a nagging itch beneath his skin. So much for working it out of his system.

\+ + +

The next day was a rest day, but Sidney knew Geno would be in to see the trainers about his back—he was having some ongoing issues with his right trapezius that nobody could seem to pin down.

He stopped in first to see Dr. Vyas, but there was no good news there. “You’re sure you went into heat?” Dr. Vyas asked for the third time, and Sidney groaned and said, “ _Yes_ , I’m sure. It’s kind of hard to mistake.” 

“It’s just that your hormone levels have barely changed since yesterday,” Dr. Vyas said. “Well, let’s start you on a different suppressant and we’ll see if that one takes effect.”  

It was closing in on two weeks since this had all started and they were no closer to finding a solution than they had been at the very beginning. Sidney knew it was a bad idea to keep track of the passing days, but he had never been much good at waiting.  

It wasn’t hard to find Geno. He was in the trainers’ room, hunched over and grimacing as Curtis applied an uncompromising elbow to his upper back. His eyes tracked Sidney’s progress through the room and then dropped to his lap as Sidney hoisted himself onto the next table over. 

“Morning, Sid,” Curtis said. “How’s the hip? I can get Patrick in here if you want, otherwise I need another ten minutes with Geno.” 

“That’s okay,” Sidney said. “I can wait.” 

Geno glowered at his lap. 

“What did you think about the game last night?” Curtis asked, and obviously Sidney had plenty of things to say despite missing the end of the game. Geno flinched and grunted as Curtis worked him over and didn’t contribute a single word to the conversation. 

“There you go,” Curtis said at last and patted Geno’s shoulder. “How does that feel?”

Geno straightened up and rolled his shoulders, drawing them forward and then pulling his elbows back to squeeze his shoulder blades together. “Better,” he said. “I feel it release.” He was wearing an old Metallurg t-shirt that was a little too small. Sidney realized he was jiggling one of his knees and forced himself to stop. 

“Roll it out with your lacrosse ball tonight and come see me again tomorrow morning,” Curtis said. “Okay, Sid, you know the drill.”

“Actually, I need to talk to Geno for a few minutes,” Sidney said.  

Curtis gave him a look. “Fine. Come find me when you’re done.”

Curtis wouldn’t say anything to his face, but he would for sure rat Sidney out with alacrity. They had at most ten minutes before someone interfered. 

Geno followed him more or less docilely into the empty press room down the hall. As soon as the door closed behind them, he turned on Sidney with a scowl. “What you want, Sid? I’m try to be good, stay away from you, and now you want me alone, and you smell like that?” He ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up even more than it already did.  

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Sidney said, which wasn’t at all what he had planned to say. 

Geno threw up his hands, visibly frustrated. “Yes! You say! Everyone on team say!”

Sidney folded his arms across his chest, feeling awkward. He had already lost control of this interaction. “Since when do you listen to what anyone thinks?”

“Oh, I should ignore?” Geno asked. “No thank you, Tanger, have too much fun get distracted every time I see Sid. No thank you, Mario, I’m have fun try to scent Sid, maybe give him nice mark, what you think? Jesus!” 

“Mario talked to you?” Sidney asked. 

“Nobody trust me with you,” Geno yelled. “Everyone think I’m dangerous, bad, you know, maybe hurt you—” He broke off and turned away, scrubbing at his face. He continued more quietly: “So then I think, maybe they right. And I don’t trust myself.” 

“Oh,” Sidney said, stricken. “Geno, no, I’m—I know you wouldn’t, uh. Do anything.” 

“No?” Geno said. He took a few steps toward Sidney, crowding him up against the wall, close enough that Sidney could feel the heat rising from his body. “I wouldn’t?” 

Sidney swallowed. “There isn’t anything you would do to me that I wouldn’t want.” 

Geno groaned and dropped his head to Sidney’s shoulder. “Sid…” 

Sidney, well aware that he was being reckless and not caring at all, settled his hands at Geno’s waist. “I went into heat again last night,” he said, “and I thought about you the whole time.” 

Geno groaned again, sounding twice as agonized as he had with Curtis digging around in his back. 

“It sucks doing it alone,” Sidney continued. “And I thought—well, you offered. So the next time, I’d like you to be there. If you want.”

“Bad idea,” Geno said, and then a long stream of tormented Russian, and then he gently pulled aside the collar of Sidney’s t-shirt and sucked a slow, throbbing mark into Sidney’s shoulder. 

Sidney cried out and scrabbled at Geno’s chest, smelling Geno’s scent spike with arousal. Geno was immovable, digging his teeth in a little, his spare hand firm on Sidney’s hip to hold him in place. Sidney’s dick took an immediate interest in the proceedings and Geno made a pleased noise and snugged him in a little closer, mouth still working. Sidney thought he was probably going to die.  

Geno drew his tongue across the bruised patch he’d made, gave a final careful suck, and released Sidney and stepped away. 

“There,” he said, eyes half-lidded. Sidney would be his until the mark faded. 

Sidney tugged his shirt back into place, his fingers brushing over the bruise and making him shiver. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Geno snorted. “ _You_ don’t tell. Everyone worry about you, yell at me.” 

“They don’t know what they’re talking about,” Sidney said. “This won’t make things weird. You’re helping me out.”

“Yes,” Geno said after a moment. “I’m helping.”

\+ + +

He sat out the next game, another loss, and then drove out to the airport that same night to fly to Montreal with the rest of the team. Dr. Vyas hadn’t wanted him to go, but Sidney put his foot down: he was tired of being handled with kid gloves, and it was important for the team to have him there. 

But they lost again to the Habs, a devastating shutout, and the worst part of this whole ordeal, worse by far than feeling like he had lost control over his own body, was watching his team lose and knowing he could have helped them if he had been out there on the ice. 

The mood in the locker room afterward was dismal, to say the least. Sullivan gave a pep talk that nobody really wanted to hear. They needed to be on a plane in less than an hour. 

Sidney was feeling pretty antsy by the time they got on the bus, to the point that Flower, sitting beside him, put a hand on Sidney’s jiggling knee and quietly said, “You need to stop.” 

“Sorry,” Sidney said, but two minutes later he was doing it again. 

So he wasn’t entirely surprised to find Geno waiting for him when he stepped off the bus, or for Geno to touch his elbow and murmur, “Sid, I think…”  

“I know,” Sidney said grimly. It was hard to imagine a worse time, and only three days after his last heat. At least by now he was pretty sure he wouldn’t throw himself at anyone other than Geno. 

“Come on, no loitering,” Flower said, turning back to gesture impatiently at them, and Sidney shouldered his bag and went. 

He tried to sleep on the plane, but the oncoming heat bubbling through his veins made it impossible. The flight was only an hour and a half; he could make it. He put on his headphones and focused on curling his toes inside his shoes, the strange crunching resistance of the baby toe he broke when Nate stepped on it the summer before. 

His phone buzzed twice in his pocket. Sidney fished it out, frowning, and opened up his messenger app. They had wifi on the plane, but he didn’t usually get messages at midnight. 

It was from Geno, because of course. 

_Sid can smell you from here. You ok?_

Sidney sighed and typed out a reply. _I’m not all the way there yet so it’s okay. We’ll be home soon._

It took Geno a few minutes to reply; he hated writing in English. _I come over tonight after we back. If you want me._

 _Yes_ , Sidney wrote immediately, and then followed it up with a second message: _Tanger is going to insist on driving me home_ , because Tanger kept leaning into the aisle to give Sidney meaningful looks that weren’t difficult to decipher. _So just leave from the airport a few minutes later and come right to my place._

 _Ok_ , Geno replied. 

Sidney thought that was the end of it, but his phone buzzed again a few minutes later, this time with a longer message. 

_You know, it’s a terrible idea, is not it? In addition, we’re teammates, I’m worried that the pairing will cause more problems for you with your heats. Maybe we should not do it without consulting Dr. Vyas first. I know you hate someone to make a fuss, but I hope you will forgive me for it this time, you have worked for many years in order to avoid the heats, mating, bonding, any of it. You never said what it's like to be an omega in the league, but I hear people say, and I can imagine that you have suffered. I do not want to cause problems for you, but I want you too much to stop._

Based on the sort of goofy English, Sidney gathered that Geno had written the message in Russian and run it through translation software. He rolled his eyes. Geno had reached a certain basic level of competence with English and then very clearly decided that was good enough and he wasn’t going to put in any additional effort. There were absolutely times that Sidney wished he had worked a little harder. 

He typed, _Who died and made everyone on this team my mother?_ , and then bit his lip and decided Geno might take that the wrong way. He started over. _It’s fine. Stop worrying about it. I told you I saw a heat specialist. She thought that having sex with you might help._  He could admit, now, that Dr. Calloway had been right about the attachment. He hoped she was right about the rest of it, too. 

He waited. Geno’s reply came as two separate messages, the first one only a series of smiley faces,  _)))_. And then:  _Ok, I fix you with dick._

Sidney snorted and put his phone away. Geno didn’t need any further ammunition.

\+ + +

He was a trembling mess by the time the plane landed. Geno had gotten out of his seat three times during the flight and started down the aisle, only to be blocked by Rusty and Fehr. Each time he stood up, Sidney felt his heat ramp up a little more. He was hanging on by a thread.  
   
Tanger, true to form, took one look at him and said, “I’m driving you home. I can bring you back tomorrow to pick up your car.” He paused. “Or whenever.”

Ugh. “Probably tomorrow,” Sidney said. “I’ll take a cab. Don’t worry about it.”

“Good luck, Sid,” Fehr said as they all filed out toward their cars, and Sidney fought down a surge of humiliation that all of the alphas knew he was in heat. They had all been kind to him, and of course it was nothing they hadn’t seen before; they were all bonded to omegas, after all. But still. 

“Thanks,” he said, and let the gentle pressure of Tanger’s hand on his back steer him toward the car. 

Tanger talked to him the whole way home, a quiet running monologue, half of it in French, that didn’t require any input from Sidney. The sound of his voice was soothing, and Sidney was grateful for the distraction.  

He texted Geno his gate code, and after a moment’s thought, his address. He and Geno were friends, of course, after ten years on the same team, but they weren’t particularly close; Geno hadn’t been to his house more than a handful of times. _I’ll leave the front door open. Let yourself in._

There was no reply, which Sidney hoped meant that Geno, for once, wasn’t looking at his phone while driving. 

He had sort of been hoping that Geno would be waiting at his house—Geno drove like speed limits were gentle suggestions—but the driveway was empty, the lights off aside from the one just above the front door. Tanger dropped him off with strict instructions to text if he needed anything, and then Sidney was alone, fumbling his key into the lock and finally letting himself feel the arousal rolling through his body: the slickness between his thighs, the urgent press of his erection against his zipper. He reached down to adjust himself and sucked in a harsh breath at how good it felt. 

He didn’t make it any farther than the living room. His bedroom was too far, all the way upstairs, and the couch was so close and inviting. He shoved his trousers down far enough to get his dick out and was most of the way to a spine-melting orgasm when he heard the front door open. 

“Sid?” Geno called, and a moment later he was there in the doorway, his suit jacket draped over one arm, his shirt open at the collar. “Sid— _fuck_.” 

“Hi,” Sidney said, his hand still working on his dick. 

Geno dropped his jacket on the floor and crossed the room, sank to his knees between Sidney’s splayed legs. Sidney could smell the scent rising off him, thick with arousal. It was overwhelming. Every one of Sidney’s instincts told him to get down on his knees and submit. He hadn’t expected his desire to be quite so urgent or impossible to resist. A volcano erupting in the middle of his living room wouldn’t stop him from getting Geno’s cock in his ass. 

Geno settled in, his palms high up on Sidney’s thighs. His eyes were very dark. Sidney rubbed the heel of his hand down the length of his erection, grinding his hips up into the touch, and Geno made a harsh noise and knocked Sidney’s hand away. “No,” he said. 

“Then _touch_  me,” Sidney said, unable to believe that Geno only wanted to _look_. 

Geno bent his head, and Sidney held his breath in anticipation, but Geno ignored his cock entirely, only buried his face in Sidney’s groin and breathed in. Geno was—oh God— _scenting_ him, inhaling deep to fill his lungs, and Sidney squirmed on the couch, already so close to the edge. 

“No,” Geno said again, his hands sliding up to Sidney’s hips, pinning him down. 

“Fuck me or leave,” Sidney said, annoyed by Geno’s alpha posturing. There was no need to assert his dominance; Sidney certainly didn’t need any convincing. “Geno, come on. I’ve been wet since the plane.” 

Geno laughed, even though nothing was funny. Sidney was burning up, frantic, and if Geno didn’t fuck him in the next two to three minutes he was going to crumble into ashes. 

“Okay,” Geno said. He ran a careful thumb over the leaking head of Sidney’s dick, and Sidney cried out, fraying apart. He needed, he _needed_ — 

“Shh,” Geno said. “Okay.” He tugged Sidney down onto the floor with him and stripped him quickly and ruthlessly, peeling off his socks and his messy boxers. Sidney tried to help, but his hands were shaking too much to do any good. Geno was flushed pink, his cheeks and all down his neck, and Sidney lost a few seconds wondering how far down that went.  

Then he was naked, his shoulders on the floor and his hips hiked up across Geno’s lap. Geno was still fully dressed. He rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows, holding Sidney’s gaze the entire time. Then he reached down to unbuckle his belt. 

The sound Sidney made was shamelessly close to a moan. 

Geno rubbed a couple of fingers across Sidney’s wet hole, a maddening tease, and Sidney opened his mouth to swear at him when Geno pushed both fingers in _deep_. They were thick and pressing him open just right, the stretch a little painful but still so good. Geno slid his free hand under Sidney’s lower back and pulled him closer, and Sidney clenched around Geno’s fingers and came in hot pulses across his own belly. 

“Good,” Geno said. “You want another?”  

His voice was rough. Sidney opened his eyes and took in the expression on Geno’s face: tender, focused, hungry. “I want you to fuck me,” Sidney said. 

“Yes,” Geno said. He pulled his fingers out of Sidney’s body and unzipped his trousers. His cock was just as big as Sidney remembered, fully hard and wet at the tip. 

It was too much to bear. Sidney felt desperate in a way he couldn’t quite account for. He reached between his legs to press against his hole, feeling it flutter against his fingertips, aching for Geno’s cock. Geno cursed softly, fumbling with the condom, and somehow that moment of clumsiness was exactly what Sidney wanted: proof that Geno wanted this as much as Sidney did. 

“Okay,” Geno said. He pushed Sidney’s thighs apart, spreading him wide open. Sidney felt his gaze like a touch, hot and assessing. “You ready,” he decided, and pressed the fat blunt head of his dick to Sidney’s hole. He stopped there, eyes on Sidney’s face. 

“Come _on_ ,” Sidney said, arching his back, and Geno bent over him and braced his hands on the floor and slid home with a powerful flex of his hips. 

They fucked like that, sprawled out beside the couch, Sidney’s legs curled around Geno’s hips. He tugged at Geno’s shirt, completely out of his mind, rolling through wave after wave of bone-shaking pleasure as Geno nailed him into the floor. He had never felt anything like this. “Geno,” he said, “Geno,” and then, knowing he wasn’t saying it quite right, “ _Zhenya_ ,” and Geno made a noise like Sidney had just cross-checked him high and vicious. 

“You— _Sid_ ,” Geno said, “oh, God, _God_ ,” and he went off into filthy-sounding Russian. He sat back on his heels and hauled Sidney’s hips up into his lap again, the angle no good for anything but a slow grind, but still so perfect, the thick shaft of his dick pressing Sidney open. Geno’s head dropped back, the long line of his throat exposed. His fingers dug into Sidney’s hips and he let out a low groan. 

Sidney got his elbows under him and lifted up to watch Geno’s cock disappearing into his body. Oh, God, Geno was going to _knot_ him. 

But then Geno pulled out, stripped off the condom, and came all over Sidney’s cock, balls, and dripping hole. 

Sidney moaned out his disappointment, well past the point of words. He was so _close_ , he wanted Geno’s knot, he wanted to _come_ — 

“Shh,” Geno said. He milked out a few last drops of come, his expression lazy and sated. “Next time. Floor is not so comfortable.” He reached down and palmed at Sidney’s cock, smearing his come around. Sidney arched into it, every nerve alight. Geno held him in place, open and exposed, and stroked Sidney casually, a slow, messy slide. It was too much but also not nearly enough. Then Geno bent his head and mouthed at the bruise on Sidney’s shoulder, still tender two days later, and Sidney seized up and felt his orgasm tear out of him. 

His legs slid to the floor, limp. He stared at the ceiling and listened to the harsh sound of his own breathing. Geno stayed bent over him, pressing soft kisses to Sidney’s neck and then very gently setting his teeth in the tendon, more a tease than a mark.  

“Holy shit,” Sidney managed at last. 

Geno laughed against his neck, a warm puff of breath. “Good? Heat over now?”

“It isn’t over until you knot me,” Sidney said, because he’d been thinking about it nonstop for the past week and there was no way he was letting Geno leave before he got what he wanted. 

Geno groaned and bit down hard, right on the sensitive spot below Sidney’s ear. His scent spiked. Sidney cried out and felt his cock spurt a weak dribble of come. 

Geno pulled away and sat up. “Upstairs,” he said. His hair was a sweaty, disheveled disaster. He smelled like the best and filthiest kind of sex. He looked down at Sidney with his dark eyes. “Messy. You stay here, I clean up.” 

Sidney felt feverish. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to get off the floor without help. “Okay.” 

Geno watched him for another moment, like he was waiting for signs of resistance. Apparently satisfied, he got up and went into the kitchen, his soft dick still hanging out of his pants. The light turned on; Sidney heard the tap running. Geno came back with a wad of damp paper towels and swiped lackadaisically at the mess of come on Sidney’s belly. He made a disgruntled noise and made another pass, not much more effective than the first. 

“I probably need a shower,” Sidney said. His thighs were smeared with slick and Geno’s come, and he was only going to get filthier before this was over. 

“Hmm,” Geno said. “Okay, shower. Give me time to recover.” 

Sidney pushed up on his elbows and gave Geno the most incredulous look he could muster. “Are you telling me you can’t get it up again?” 

Geno grinned, the asshole. “I’m only tease. Come on, we go upstairs.” 

He helped Sidney upstairs with an arm around his waist and steered him directly into the en suite in Sidney’s bedroom. He held Sidney tucked up against his side as he turned on the water in the shower and tested the temperature with his free hand, protective in a way that Sidney hadn’t known he wanted.  

“At least take off your clothes,” Sidney said, and Geno rolled his eyes and propped Sidney against the wall while he stripped off the rumpled remains of his suit. His cock was stiffening up again, and Sidney stared at it with a sense of proprietary greed. Geno glanced up and caught him at it, and Sidney just shrugged in response to Geno’s raised eyebrows and filthy grin. They both knew what was happening here. 

Geno herded him into the shower and briskly soaped him down. The water was hot and soothing and Sidney let himself relax against Geno’s chest, let Geno hold him up and take care of him. He was running on pure instinct, the desperation of heat tempered by Geno’s presence, like Sidney’s body recognized that he was with an alpha now and wouldn’t go unsatisfied. But when Geno slid a soap-slick hand between his legs, that sense of calm evaporated. He widened his stance and arched his back so that Geno’s fingers skimmed across his sensitive hole. 

“You like?” Geno asked, sounding amused. He rubbed at Sidney’s hole and then pressed a finger inside. 

Sidney’s mouth dropped open in wordless pleasure. He couldn’t believe how good it felt. The angle wasn’t great, but that didn’t seem to matter. He was still loose from taking Geno’s cock, and when Geno gave him a second finger he could only think about how it wasn’t _enough_. 

“Okay,” Geno said, and shut off the water.  

He toweled Sidney down and manhandled him into the bedroom. Sidney didn’t put up any resistance: they both had the same goal. Geno pushed him down onto the unmade bed and Sidney went down on his stomach, bouncing a little. He was slicking up again, wet and open and waiting for Geno to take him. He crawled up the mattress until there was room to get his knees beneath him, raise his ass in the air, and present. 

Geno was silent. Sidney waited a moment, his thighs parted, and when Geno still didn’t move or speak, he fisted his hands in the sheets in frustration. “Geno,” he said sharply, all out of patience for Geno’s teasing. He _needed_ this. 

But Geno didn’t say anything, and he didn’t climb on the bed and put his cock in Sidney’s ass, and Sidney turned his head to scowl at Geno, who was—oh, God, standing at the foot of the bed with a condom in his hand and a look on his face like—like— 

“Please,” Sidney said, and the words started pouring out of him without planning or permission, “please, please fuck me, I need your cock, I need you to knot me, _please_ —”

Geno made a raw sound and came to him. 

Sidney went down on his elbows and dropped his head to the mattress, digging his fingers into his hair. He focused on his breathing as Geno wrestled with the condom wrapper. His dick hung between his legs, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. Geno's cock slid along the crease of his ass, the head bumping over his hole and then away, and Sidney was sweating again already, overheated just from the teasing and from Geno’s scent coating the back of his throat.  

“Please,” he said again, and Geno finally pushed inside in a long devastating thrust. 

It was fast and hard and just what Sidney needed. Geno fucked him deep, pulling almost all the way out on the upstroke so that Sidney got the full delicious slide back in. He braced his hands against the headboard and screwed back onto Geno’s cock, completely shameless about taking what he wanted. Geno’s scent was rich with arousal and Sidney felt a little high on it, dazed with heat and with the way Geno was fucking him.  

Geno’s hands tightened on his hips. “Can’t last,” he grated out. “Sid, your ass, you—” He broke off, swearing under his breath. 

“Yes,” Sidney said, “yeah, give it to me, Geno, I need you to knot me,” spouting whatever bullshit popped into his head, anything to get Geno to hurry up and just do it already. He was so close, his balls drawn up tight, his cock aching. It wouldn’t take much: Geno’s hand, a few more thrusts _just there_ — 

Geno’s hips stuttered, his rhythm falling apart. “Sid,” he choked out, driving in hard and deep, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. His breath came in harsh pants. And then Sidney felt Geno's knot swelling, impossibly huge, and he cried out and pushed back onto it and was certain he could feel Geno start to come. 

Geno groaned long and low, holding Sidney in place against him while he pumped his come into the condom. Not that Sidney had any intention of moving, trapped where he was by the sensation of Geno’s knot splitting him open, hovering right on the delicious edge of pain. 

“Ah, Sid. Ah, God,” Geno said. His hands relaxed, and he stroked Sidney’s hips gently, as if in apology. “Okay, I’m—careful,” and he maneuvered them both onto their sides, lying so that he was spooned up close against Sidney’s back, still knotted together. 

The change in position was agonizing for Sidney, Geno’s knot lodged right against his prostate, and when they were settled again he couldn’t stop squirming, moving his hips in minute shifts to work himself against that firm pressure. He was hot all over, flushed and sweating. He reached down to get his hand on his cock and Geno grabbed his wrist and pinned his hand behind his back, ignoring the desperate sound Sidney made. 

“No,” Geno said. “You come on my knot. No touching.” 

“Geno,” Sidney said, a thin whine. Geno kept his hand around Sidney’s wrist and said nothing. Sidney arched his back hard, pushing down on Geno’s knot, clenching around it, almost there, and then at last he tipped over the edge and shook his way through a long, pulsing orgasm. 

“Good,” Geno said. He let go of Sidney’s wrist and stroked his hand along Sidney’s side, soothing Sidney’s trembling muscles. “So good, Sid, so sweet, I’m take care.” He nosed at the back of Sidney’s neck, pushing aside Sidney’s sweaty hair to press his lips to Sidney’s skin. “Smell so good, feel so good. Sid…”

They lay like that, curled together. Geno stroked Sidney’s belly and thighs and kissed his neck, murmuring nonsense. Sidney closed his eyes and floated. Geno was still hard and thick inside him, but he was wrung out for the moment, content to rest until the urgency returned. He turned his head to give Geno better access to his neck, and Geno took full advantage, sucking kisses along the side of Sidney’s throat and putting some serious time into laying down a mark where he had bitten earlier. The slow draws of his mouth pulled Sidney back into full arousal. He heard the noises he was making but didn’t care enough to stop. 

Geno’s knot softened and slipped out at last. Geno pulled away with a final kiss to Sidney’s neck. He slid off the bed and went into the washroom to dump the condom, and Sidney turned onto his back and stretched, arms above his head, and then reached down to palm at his erection. He felt fantastic. He wanted more. 

“Already?” Geno said from the doorway, sounding amused. 

“Yeah,” Sidney said. “So? Come here.”

Geno didn’t need to be asked twice. He climbed back on the bed and settled on top of Sidney, big and warm, one hand pushing Sidney’s sweaty hair away from his face. 

“Sid,” Geno said, eyes hooded, and he bent his head to take Sidney’s mouth in a kiss. 

The kiss was hot and lazy, Geno’s tongue sliding into Sidney’s mouth with a casual possessiveness that made Sidney shiver. He wrapped his arms around Geno’s back and couldn’t imagine why they hadn’t kissed yet. Geno lifted one of Sidney’s thighs out of the way, making a space for himself to settle in and grind their hips together, slow and dirty and so good. Sidney felt an orgasm building and pursued it mindlessly, rubbing up against Geno as they kissed, the head of his dick pushing against Geno’s soft belly. He felt—oh God— 

“Noisy,” Geno murmured, not sounding at all upset about it. “You gonna come again?”

“I—yes,” Sidney said, and squeezed his eyes shut and did. 

Geno bent his head and claimed Sidney’s mouth in another kiss.

\+ + +

They slept for a few hours around dawn, too exhausted to keep going. Sidney woke up with an erection and Geno’s hand on his ass. They screwed again, Sidney lying on his belly as Geno knotted him, and he felt his heat end with his orgasm, a sudden subsiding. 

“Over?” Geno asked, and kissed his shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Sidney said. “Seems like it.” 

Geno settled on top of him to wait out the knot, heavy enough that it should have been uncomfortable but instead was somehow reassuring. “I go home,” he said. 

“You played a game last night and you’ve barely slept,” Sidney said. “I don’t think—”

“Can’t stay,” Geno said, setting his teeth at the nape of Sidney’s neck without biting down, and Sidney felt the truth of his words. Geno had marked him, knotted him twice, and slept in his bed, and if Geno didn’t leave soon they were going to bond. Sidney could already sense it stirring at the edges of his awareness, a sort of tugging sensation, his—whatever, his _soul_ or whatever it was reaching out for Geno’s. 

“Take a shower here, at least,” Sidney said. “There’s—you can use the washroom across the hall.” 

“Okay,” Geno said. He shifted his hips, testing the knot. It wasn’t fully soft but it had gone down enough for him to pop free with a little effort. He patted Sidney’s hip and rolled off the bed. 

Sidney gave himself a few minutes to lie there before he got up and staggered toward the shower. He felt—he wasn’t sure what he felt. He should have been tired, but he wasn’t. He didn’t want Geno to leave. 

He showered and pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a shirt he’d stolen from Nate. His hole was sore and a little swollen, an unavoidable reminder of what he and Geno had done. He dug out some clothes for Geno, a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and went across the hall. 

The water cut off just as Sidney knocked at the door, and he went in without waiting for an answer. Geno was standing naked on the bath mat, toweling at his hair, and Sidney felt himself turn instantly red. Geno glanced at him and raised his eyebrows. 

“I got some clothes for you,” Sidney said, pretending he wasn’t red as a beet. He set the clothes down on the vanity. “So, uh. Here you go.” 

“Thank you,” Geno said.  

Sidney knew he should leave, back out of the room and let Geno get dressed and go, but—he didn’t want to. He looked down at his feet and fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt. 

“Sid,” Geno said, painfully gentle. “What’s up?”

“Sorry I was so out of it,” Sidney said, which wasn’t really what he wanted to say, but it was a good cover for his awkward loitering. And Geno had really done all of the work while Sidney mostly lay there and moaned a lot. He wasn’t usually such an inconsiderate bed partner. 

“Why you apologize?” Geno asked, frowning at him. 

“Well, you were doing me a favor, and I feel bad that you didn’t get more out of it,” Sidney said. 

“Ridiculous,” Geno said. “You joking? It was very good, very fun.” He grinned. “Make me feel like big strong alpha, you know, good with omega, good with sex, very—what Flower say?”

Sidney rolled his eyes, because unfortunately he knew exactly what Geno was talking about. “Virile." 

“Yes,” Geno agreed, grinning even wider. “Virile. Sex was perfect, very good for me.”  

“Oh,” Sidney said. “Well.” 

Geno dropped his towel on the floor and moved in close. He cupped Sidney’s face in his hands and bent to give him a kiss, slow and lingering. Sidney closed his eyes and leaned into it. Geno kissed him again, then kissed his cheek and forehead, and then he stepped back with a rueful look. “Not smart, but can’t resist. Next heat, we do again. If you want.” 

“Yeah,” Sidney said. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror; Christ, he was _bright_ red. “I’d like that.” 

“Okay,” Geno said, and he groaned and turned away. “I’m go home now.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sidney said, and then he forced himself to leave the room. He needed coffee, and some breakfast. He needed to call Dr. Vyas. He didn’t need to spend another second alone with Geno.

\+ + +

He spent the rest of the day napping and eating, refueling after the heat, and went to the airport in the evening to pick up his car. The next morning, he drove to the rink for morning skate and to meet with Dr. Vyas.

“Your levels are down, almost back to baseline,” Dr. Vyas said, looking surprised and pleased. “I’m glad to see the suppressants are starting to take effect.” 

It was the perfect out, but Sidney knew he couldn’t lie about this, not even by omission. “I don’t think it’s the suppressants.” 

Dr. Vyas raised his eyebrows. “What makes you say that?” Sidney watched his gaze flicker to the claim mark on Sidney’s neck, mottled purple and impossible to ignore. 

“I had sex with Geno,” Sidney said, being careful to maintain eye contact. He wasn’t ashamed. “When I went into heat on Tuesday night. I asked him to help me through it.” 

“Well,” Dr. Vyas said, and leaned back in his chair. “Sidney…” 

“It was my decision,” he said.  

“Well,” Dr. Vyas said again. “Thank you for telling me. We’ll keep an eye on you over the next few days.” 

Sidney waited for him to say something else, like maybe _I’ll think about clearing you to play_ , but Dr. Vyas turned to his computer and began typing rapidly, conversation obviously over. 

Sidney went down to the locker room to change before skate. His appointment with Dr. Vyas had taken longer than he had expected, and most of the team was already there. Sidney watched in resignation as the guys closest to the door did a series of double-takes, so perfectly coordinated it was like they had rehearsed it. Conversation at the back of the room died down. Before long, everyone was staring at him. Sidney sighed and covered his eyes with one hand. He should have stayed home. 

Someone wolf-whistled, which unleashed a torrent of disgusting chirping that Sidney did his best to ignore as he made his way to his stall. 

“Our boy’s finally a man,” Kuni said as Sidney sat down beside him. 

“Yep, you got me, I’ve been a virgin all this time,” Sidney said. 

“Oh my God, you were a virgin?” Flower yelled, which just got everyone even more riled up. 

“Let me see your hickey,” Kuni said, his hands on Sidney’s face, trying to turn Sidney’s head to get a better look, and Sidney fought him off, laughing despite himself, relieved that nobody was going to make a big scene. Chirping he could deal with. Anyone would get the same treatment, showing up in the locker room with a giant hickey. 

“He’s turning pink!” Cole shrieked, sounding utterly delighted. 

“You assholes,” Sidney said, and gave in to the inevitable and stood on the bench, holding his hands up to get everyone’s attention. “I got laid,” he said, and waited for the shouting to die down. “It was fantastic. You aren’t getting any other information out of me, so don’t try. Now quit gossiping and put your skates on.” 

“I thought you were saving yourself for me,” Horny said, and Sidney rolled his eyes and hopped down to get changed. 

The team’s attention moved on to arguing about what kind of dog Muzz should get. Sidney risked a glance at Geno, who was putting on his socks and looking unbearably smug. When he caught Sidney staring, he winked. 

Fehr gave Sidney a subtle thumbs up. Tanger looked like he was so full of judgment he might pop like a balloon. 

Flower caught up with him as they straggled out to the ice. “Fantastic, you say?”

“Easily top five of all time,” Sidney said, refusing to let Flower nettle him. 

“Hmm,” Flower said. “How does the joke go? In Soviet Russia—”

“Don’t,” Sidney said. “And tell Tanger to put a lid on it, eh? Geno doesn’t need any lectures. And neither do I.” 

“Okay,” Flower said. He put an arm around Sidney’s shoulder and gave him a gentle shake. “No lectures.” 

He felt good during the skate, much better than he expected for the day after a heat. He ran some line rushes with Sheary and Horny, and everything was clicking well, passes connecting, everything falling into place. No one would be able to replace Duper, but Sheary was a good kid, a good player, and they’d worked well together the year before. Sidney was itching to get back in the lineup and see what they could do this year.  

He stayed on the ice after the rest of the team left and ran some drills with Max. On his way back to the locker room, he ran into Geno coming in from riding the bike and pulled to an abrupt stop, not sure if they were supposed to be avoiding each other. Geno looked equally uncertain, and they stood there for a few awkward moments, Geno wiping at his face with a towel. 

“So, uh,” Sidney said. 

“Say again,” Geno said in a rush. “What you say before skate.” 

Sidney felt his whole body go hot. The mark on his neck throbbed. He knew exactly what Geno wanted him to say. He got right up in Geno’s space, close enough that their thighs brushed together. With him in skates and Geno in runners, they were almost the same height. He tipped his head back just enough to touch his lips to the underside of Geno’s jaw. “It was fantastic,” he murmured. 

Geno made a low noise and stepped backward, shaking his head. “You trouble,” he said. He looked pretty happy about it. 

Sidney went on into the locker room, tasting salt on his mouth. 

Regret set in pretty fast, and by the time he got home he was half-convinced he had gone into some sort of fugue state.  He texted Geno while he waited for his leftovers to heat up:  _Sorry about what I did after skate. That was out of line._

Geno’s reply came just as Sidney took the first bite of stir fry, and he almost choked.  _Should be sorry. I jerk off in showers and have to give myself fine._

Geno was an actual menace. Sidney stared at his phone for a few minutes, trying and failing to come up with a snappy response. He was nowhere near being in heat, but he wanted nothing more than to drive over to Geno’s house and take him to bed. So much for not making things weird.

\+ + +

The Penguins won against the Sharks, including a goal from Geno that got Sidney pretty hot. His levels were still down the next morning, to his and Dr. Vyas’s pleasure. He wasn’t going to think about what that meant—he didn’t want to jinx himself—but he went downstairs to skate with a spring in his step.

Pouliot had taken a bad fall the night before, and they had called up Warsofsky to replace him. Sidney was a little surprised to see the guy at skate. They must have flown him out that morning. Warsofsky had played a few games for the Penguins the year before; he was a nice guy, quiet, on the small side for a D-man. He was also an alpha. 

Sidney was a firm believer in taking the bull by the horns, so he skated right over to Warsofsky and extended his hand. “Hey, man. Good to see you again. Welcome back to Pittsburgh.” 

Warsofsky stared at him for a moment before he accepted Sidney’s handshake. “Uh, hey. Thanks. It’s good to be back. Shame about Pouliot, though.” 

“For sure,” Sidney said. Warsofsky was still staring at him, and of course Sidney had a pretty good idea what that was about, but he wasn’t going to say anything. Warsofsky could ask, if he was so curious; otherwise it wasn’t really his business. “We’re glad to have you here anyway.” 

Sullivan got things moving then, which was a relief. Sidney didn’t like the way Warsofsky’s attention prickled at the back of his neck, or the way Geno had been pretending to roughhouse with Horny while keeping an eye on Sidney the whole time, like he needed to monitor the situation. 

His sense of unease increased as they ran drills. Geno and Warsofsky were sort of circling around each other, being a little rough in a way that wasn’t called for. Sidney knew alpha posturing when he saw it, but he hadn’t ever expected to see it during a practice. He kept looking toward Sullivan, waiting for him to put a stop to it, but Sullivan didn’t do anything about it, maybe didn’t even notice what was going on. Tanger pulled Geno to the side after a while and said something to him that made Geno scowl and shake his head, but that didn’t stop it either. 

By the end of the skate, Sidney was feeling pretty frayed. He had hoped—well, he had been wrong; nothing between him and Geno was settled, and he couldn’t play like this, not if there was going to be trouble with every unbonded alpha in the league. 

Geno stood too close while Sullivan gave his usual post-skate pep talk. Sidney tried to ignore it, but Geno was making him sweat in the worst way. Every time he tried to sidle away, Geno followed him. The third time he did it, Sidney elbowed him in the gut and muttered, “Knock it off, G.” That proved to be a mistake as Warsofsky perked up and skated a little closer. 

It got worse after Sullivan dismissed them. Warsofsky came over to ask Sidney some bullshit question about line combinations, and Geno stood there and loomed as the rest of the team trailed off the ice, not even pretending to be doing anything but keeping an eye on Sidney. Warsofsky kept glancing at Geno, clearly uncomfortable, but just as clearly refusing to give up. 

Geno’s patience ran out even more quickly than Sidney expected. “Sid, time to go,” he said, curling a hand around the back of Sidney’s neck, outrageously possessive—but of course Warsofsky was really crossing a line by ignoring the mark on Sidney’s throat.  

“We’re having a conversation,” Warsofsky said, and then swallowed. Sidney could imagine what was going through his head, alpha instinct warring with the cold reality of being a call-up from the minors and mouthing off to Evgeni Malkin. 

Geno snorted. “Boring conversation. Sid has better things to do.” 

Warsofsky, looking like he couldn’t quite believe what he was doing, bared his teeth at Geno. 

“Oh, hell,” Sidney said, preparing himself to break up a fistfight, but Geno only gave Warsofsky a long look and then skated away, a display of casual dominance that made Sidney’s heart beat a little faster. 

“Holy shit,” Warsofsky whispered. 

“Can I, uh. Ask why you thought that was a good idea?” Sidney said.   

“I didn’t,” Warsofsky said, and rubbed a hand over his face. “Look, you smell like Malkin, and I’m guessing that’s his mark on you, but you aren’t bonded, and you’re cycling…” He trailed off and shrugged, sheepish. “Sorry.” 

Sidney couldn’t really blame the guy. It was hard to fight instinct, and it wasn’t like he and Geno were models of restraint, as evidenced by the multiple bite marks on Sidney’s body. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to Geno.” He hesitated. “Maybe you guys should stay away from each other, though, eh?”

“Yeah,” Warsofsky said. “Sorry.”

Sidney sat on the bench for a while after Warsofsky left, pretending to re-tape his stick. His hands were trembling. Nothing was fixed, nothing was better. He didn’t regret sleeping with Geno, but of course he had been hoping it would solve everything, that his body would fix itself and he could go back to playing hockey, that everything would return to how it had been. His levels were down, but they would go back up. Warsofsky thought he was available, which meant the suppressants weren’t working. He had been distracting himself with Geno, enjoying the attention, but nothing had changed. He still couldn’t play.

\+ + +

The team flew out to Nashville that night for a game against the Predators the next day. Sidney didn’t go with them. He wanted to—of course he wanted to be there—but he had things to take care of in Pittsburgh. He drove home from the rink in the afternoon and made two phone calls, one to Dr. Calloway and one to Mario.

He went downtown first thing the next morning to meet with Dr. Calloway. She greeted him in the waiting room and led him down the hall to her office. He was the first appointment of the morning; not even the receptionist had arrived yet. 

“Thanks for seeing me so early,” he said. 

“It’s my pleasure,” Dr. Calloway said, gesturing for him to sit. “You deserve your privacy. Coffee?”  

They spent a few minutes drinking coffee and making small talk about the season. Dr. Calloway was a Pens fan and had some interesting things to say about their defense. Sidney felt himself relaxing, and realized that had probably been Dr. Calloway’s goal when she leaned toward him and said, “Tell me about what’s brought you here.” 

“It’s about Geno,” Sidney said. “Uh, Evgeni. He’s my—” 

“Your young man, yes. I remember,” she said, smiling. 

Teammate, Sidney was going to say. “Right. Well. I went into a heat a few days ago, and we—I had sex with him.” 

“Ah,” she said. “And was that what you wanted?” 

“Yeah,” Sidney said. “It was exactly what I wanted.” 

“I’m happy to hear that,” she said. “But?”

“It didn’t work,” Sidney said. “I’m still cycling. The suppressants aren’t working. We called a guy up from Wilkes-Barre, an alpha, and he—I thought he and Geno were going to fight each other.” 

“An attachment doesn’t dissipate at once,” Dr. Calloway said. “You’ll need to give it some time. I would counsel patience. A few more weeks on suppressants—” 

“It’s not going to dissipate,” Sidney said. “I want him too much. And I’m—he can smell it on me. And it gets him worked up, so then it doesn’t go away.” He looked down at his lap. “And anyway, I can’t wait that long.” It had been almost three weeks. He was perfectly healthy; he felt great; there was no reason he shouldn’t be on the ice. It was eating him alive to watch every game from the press box.  

“So,” she said. “You’re thinking of bonding with him, then. Is that it?” 

Sidney nodded. “I know it’s not—what anyone thinks I should do, but… I’ve known Geno for a long time. I trust him. And I think—well. If you think it would work—” 

“Medically, I think it’s a perfectly reasonable solution,” she said. “A bonded omega won’t attract any attention. I imagine it will raise a number of concerns off the ice, but I can’t counsel you as to that.” She sipped her coffee and gave him a long look. “Whether this is a good idea for you personally…” 

“I have to play,” Sidney said. “I’m thinking about what’s best for the team.” 

“Well,” she said. “My recommendation is still to wait and see. But, that aside, bonding is a good solution.” 

“Thank you,” Sidney said, because that was everything he needed to know. 

He went to the rink afterward and worked out with Andy, ate, showered, and was outside Jim’s office five minutes before their scheduled eleven o’clock meeting. 

He had expected to be meeting only with Mario and Jim, but Bill and Jason were there as well, all of them sitting at the conference table in the front room. Nobody looked happy. Sidney took a deep breath as he sat down in an empty chair. 

“I’ll get straight to the point,” he said. “We haven’t been able to control my heats. The doctors aren’t sure what’s going on, and they want me to keep waiting for the suppressants to start working. But they aren’t able to give me any clear timeline of how long that will be.” 

“Your health is our top priority,” Mario said. “It takes as long as it takes.” 

Sidney shook his head. “That’s not good enough for me. I’m going to bond with Geno.” 

“Uh, wow,” Bill said after a moment. “Can you tell us more about this?" 

“If I’m bonded, it doesn’t matter that I’m cycling,” Sidney said. “Nobody will bother me on the ice.” 

He watched as they all exchanged glances. “Look, I’m just going to say it,” Jason said. “An unbonded omega playing hockey is one thing. A bonded, fertile omega—sorry, but this could be a PR disaster for us.” 

“We’ll just have to be honest about it,” Sidney said. “I’m willing to make a statement about what’s going on. My suppressants aren’t working and Geno is helping out as a friend and teammate. I’m on birth control and we’re only doing this for hockey.” 

“Sid, nobody is going to swallow that load of bullshit,” Jason said. “If you bond with Geno, everyone is going to think it’s romantic. It doesn’t matter what you say, nobody will believe that you’re only doing it for hockey.” 

He was probably right. “People will speculate,” Sidney said. “But we’ve got the moral high ground. It’s 2016. Anyone who outright says they don’t think I should play after bonding is going to look like an asshole.” 

“Well,” Jim said. “Why hire PR people when you’ve got Sidney Crosby?” 

Sidney gave Jim an unimpressed look. He knew a few things about PR, but he knew a lot about being an omega. 

“I’m inclined to agree with your doctors,” Mario said. “But it’s your decision. If Geno’s on board, we’ll support you both.”

“Oh,” Sidney said. “Well, I haven’t asked him yet.” 

Bill raised his eyebrows. “You haven’t even talked to Geno about this? How do you know he’ll agree?” 

“He’ll agree,” Sidney said. He was pretty sure Geno would agree. 

Jim started laughing. “I guess that solves the ongoing mystery of where that claim mark came from.” 

Sidney’s face went hot. He should have worn a different shirt. 

Mario was hiding a smile with one hand. “Now, Jim, can you truly say you’re surprised?” 

“I won’t answer that question, as I’m afraid we’ll make poor Sidney spontaneously combust,” Jim said. He sobered slightly. “Sid, I know that both you and Geno always have the best interests of the team in mind. I’ll trust you not to do anything that might cause problems in the room or on the ice.”  

“We won’t,” Sidney said. “I just want to play.” 

Mario and Jim exchanged a look that Sidney couldn’t read. “Keep us updated,” Mario said. “We’ll work with Dharmesh and Mike to decide when to put you back in the lineup.” 

“Okay,” Sidney said. “Thanks.” He wasn’t sure what he felt. He had expected a little more resistance, but he knew that on some level management was as eager as he was to get him back in the game. 

He needed to text Geno, but he put it off until later that afternoon. He had been so confident in his plan, but everything hinged on Geno’s willingness to go along with it, and ultimately he wasn’t certain how Geno would react. He drafted a message and deleted it more times than he cared to think about, and finally forced himself to hit send and get it over with. _Can we talk?_  Then he decided that might sound a little dire, and sent, _Nothing bad. Good luck tonight._

His phone rang five minutes later. “Hi, Sid,” Geno said. “What’s up?” 

“Do you have time to talk?” Sidney asked. The game started in a couple of hours, and Geno wasn’t anywhere near as superstitious as Sidney, but he still had his pre-game rituals. 

“Few minutes,” Geno said. “Everything okay?” 

“Yeah,” Sidney said. “I have something to ask you about. A favor. Can we talk when you get back? Maybe you could come here for breakfast tomorrow.” 

Geno made a soft noise. “Okay. What time?” 

“Any time after eight,” Sidney said, glad that Geno wasn’t going to interrogate him about what was going on. They could duke it out in person tomorrow. “Sleep as long as you want and come over here when you get up.” 

“Okay,” Geno said. He drew in a breath, and Sidney waited for him to say something. After a few moments, Geno made another uninterpretable noise and said, “See you tomorrow.” 

“Tell the guys I’ll be watching,” Sidney said. “See you tomorrow.” 

In the end, he only watched half the game. He turned it off when it was clear the Penguins were going to lose. Their next game was in three days; he was going to do everything he could to be out there on the ice when the puck dropped.

\+ + +

Geno showed up at his house a little after nine o’clock the next morning, wearing workout clothes and a grumpy expression. “Tired,” he said when Sidney let him in.

“It was a hard game,” Sidney said. “You did your best.” 

Geno grunted and followed him into the kitchen. Sidney had made coffee and tea, and Geno poured himself a cup of each and settled at the breakfast bar. One of the mugs said “I ❤ Cole Harbour” in big block letters. “What you’re making?”

“Frittata and toast,” Sidney said. He had made the frittata already; it was in the oven, keeping warm. “You going to the rink today?” 

“Yes, work out with Gonch,” Geno said. “You come?” 

“Maybe,” Sidney said. “I was planning to skate.” 

“Okay, skate, then work out with us,” Geno said. He dumped several spoonfuls of sugar in his coffee and sipped at it with a pleased expression. 

Sidney put some bread in the toaster, the expensive multi-grain kind he liked. He wasn’t sure how to have this conversation with Geno. He had rehearsed it in his head last night, but all of his planned openings seemed stupid now in the face of Geno sitting in his kitchen, shoulders slumped, a massive pillow crease on one cheek.  

“Sid, why I’m here?” Geno asked, after a long minute of silence. 

“Well,” Sidney said. He took the frittata out of the oven and cut a generous slice for Geno. “Remember how you almost got in a fight with Warsofsky?” 

Geno scowled. “I’m not fight. He sees my mark but doesn’t care, very rude. But I go away, don’t fight.” 

He was already fucking this up. “Let me start over. What I mean is, I guess I smell, uh—” 

“Smell very good,” Geno said. 

Sidney shot him a dark look. “Okay, whatever. My point is, Warsofsky basically told me I smell available, and I can’t play like this. So I started thinking about what I could do to smell unavailable.” He put the frittata on a plate and set it on the counter in front of Geno. 

Geno dug in, stuffing his face and watching Sidney with furrowed eyebrows. “Why you don’t eat?” 

“Oh, I had mine already,” Sidney said. He had been up for a couple of hours already and couldn’t wait that long for breakfast. The toaster popped, and he fished out the hot toast and transferred it to Geno’s plate. 

Geno put a good dent in the frittata before leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his coffee. “Okay, you tell me come over, make me breakfast, watch me eat. So?” 

Sidney swallowed. He leaned back against the counter, tucking his hands behind his back to hide how they trembled. “I want to ask you to bond with me.” 

Geno took another bite and gave Sidney what was probably a deceptively bland look. “So you bond, smell like bond, then you can play.” 

“Yeah,” Sidney said, relieved that he wouldn’t have to spell it out. Geno got underestimated a lot because he hadn’t mastered the past tense, but Sidney thought he was probably one of the smartest guys on the team. “It wouldn’t be—it would only be for a little while. Until the doctors can get my suppressants straightened out. As soon as I’ve quit cycling, we could break the bond.” He drew in a breath. “I know it’s a lot to ask. You can tell me no.” 

Geno finished his meal in silence. Sidney tried not to squirm. This wasn’t going the way he had planned. Bonding was a big commitment, and he hadn’t expected Geno to agree, necessarily, but he also hadn’t thought that Geno would just sit there and ignore him. 

Then Geno drained each of his mugs in turn and stood up, came around the breakfast bar to crowd Sidney against the counter, his hands planted on the countertop at either side of Sidney’s waist, boxing him in. Sidney felt his heart rate speed up. Geno ducked his head to nose at the fading mark on Sidney’s neck. “I think about it,” Geno said. He pressed his lips to the mark. “Let you know.” 

“Okay,” Sidney said. “Yeah. That’s a good idea. Don’t—don’t decide right now.” Geno’s shorts didn’t do much to hide the soft bulk of his cock pressed up against Sidney’s hip. One of them needed to step away, and it wasn’t going to be Sidney; he wanted it too much. 

“Okay,” Geno said. He touched his thumb to Sidney’s lower lip and then mercifully moved back. “See you at party later?” 

“Yeah,” Sidney said, a little dazed. “And probably at the rink.” 

“Good,” Geno said. “See you.”  

He left. Sidney ran a shaky hand over his face and started loading the dishwasher. 

He went to the rink soon after. It was officially a maintenance day, but a few of the guys had shown up anyway, Olli and Wilson and Sheary, and they ran some light drills, taking it easy, goofing around a little with trick shots. “Don’t go too crazy tonight,” Sidney told them when they wrapped things up. “We’ve got practice tomorrow.” 

“How much do you think I would get fined for puking on the ice?” Wilson asked. 

“More than you can afford,” Sidney said, grinning to think of the pleasure Geno would take in collecting on that particular fine. 

He changed out of his pads and went into the gym, a little uncertain of his welcome. Gonch and Geno were standing by one of the power cages, and Geno spotted him and waved him over, seemingly happy to see him. 

“Sidney, you’re working out with us?” Gonch asked, smiling and wiping his face with the hem of his t-shirt. 

“Yeah, I think so,” Sidney said, trying not to stare at Geno too blatantly. “What are you guys doing?” 

They were doing rack pulls. Sidney worked in with them for a few sets and then did some plyo work while Geno and Gonch did something that involved kettlebells and a Bosu ball. Sidney watched Geno while he rested between sets, aware that he was probably being pretty obvious but not really caring. 

Geno was—well, he probably wasn’t anyone’s definition of handsome. He was objectively sort of funny-looking, with his long skinny legs and incongruously round ass, his hairline starting to creep up his forehead. But everything about him turned Sidney’s crank hard. He thought Geno looked just right. 

Across the room, Geno wobbled on the Bosu ball, laughing at something Gonch said. Sidney couldn’t begin to sort through his tangled feelings, lust and guilt and fondness and God only knew what else. He’d made his play; it was up to Geno now.

\+ + +

The team’s annual Halloween party was that night. Sidney had used some of the time he would ordinarily be devoting to hockey to put together what he thought was a solid Jon Snow costume, complete with cloak and wig. He sent a selfie to Tanger, the reigning Halloween costume champion, and got an encouraging response. He was going to kill it.

He got a phone call from Taylor right as he was planning to head out, so he ended up getting to the bar a little late, and the party was already in full swing. The place was dark and crowded and loud music was thumping. Sidney adjusted his cloak and waded in. 

“Jon Snow!” a pirate bellowed, and handed Sidney a red Solo cup that was probably full of very cheap beer. 

Sidney squinted. “Tom?” 

“Sid!” Kuhnhackl said. “Now the party really starts!” 

Sidney grinned and kept moving. He headed for the back of the bar, dodging Yoshi and a giant candlestick. There was a table set up for beer pong and a nice spread of things Sidney wasn’t supposed to eat, including a huge bowl of Halloween candy. He helped himself to a Reese’s cup and ditched the beer. He could find something better to drink. 

Geno wasn’t hard to find: he was in the middle of the dance floor, as usual, flailing around with a Frankenstein who was probably Kuni. He was dressed as—a cowboy? He had the hat, at least, and a bandanna. He looked ridiculous.  

Sidney forced himself to make the rounds, saying hi to everyone, the guys and their wives and girlfriends, admiring costumes, taking a shot that Flower pushed into his hand, something that tasted like vanilla. He played a couple rounds of beer pong and lost pretty badly both times, too distracted to get competitive about it the way he usually would. He accepted the subsequent merciless chirping and made his excuses. 

He was riding a little buzz from the beer and feeling loose enough that he decided it was okay to stop being the captain for a while and let himself just be Sidney. He pushed his way onto the dance floor, aiming for the cowboy hat. Geno’s scent hit him as he got close, tinged with sweat and beer. That was definitely Geno under the cowboy costume, the—was that a _fringed vest_? 

Geno turned toward him and pushed back the brim of his hat, a lazy smile tugging at his mouth. “Sidney Crosby.” 

“I’m Jon Snow,” Sidney said, raising his voice to be heard over the pounding bass. 

Geno shook his head and gathered Sidney in close, his hands on Sidney’s hips, showing him how to move with the beat. Sidney couldn’t dance, had zero rhythm, but he could handle leaning against Geno’s chest and swaying back and forth. Geno leaned in and pressed his mouth to Sidney’s ear. His lips moved as he spoke, sending a faint crackle down Sidney’s spine. “Yes,” he said. 

Sidney closed his eyes, his fingers tangling in the fabric of Geno’s plaid shirt. He shook his head; it wasn’t enough. He needed Geno to say the words. 

“I bond with you,” Geno said, his voice a quiet murmur in Sidney’s ear, a secret for the two of them to share. 

Sidney swallowed convulsively. “Thank you.”  

Geno kissed his ear and his neck, his fingers creeping beneath the hem of Sidney’s shirt… thing. Breastplate? Doublet? It didn’t matter; Geno was stroking the small of his back, and Sidney stopped caring what anyone thought and put his arms around Geno’s neck. If anyone on the team didn’t know what was going on, it was because they were too stupid to add two and two and get four. He kissed Geno’s jaw, the only part he could reach without going up on his toes, and Geno laughed and slid his hands southward, down over the curve of Sidney’s ass. 

“Wig so terrible,” Geno said. “You so pretty. Shameful to hide. This is worse than playoff beard.” 

“Nothing could be worse than my playoff beard,” Sidney said. He wasn’t under any illusions that his attempts at facial hair were attractive. 

“This wig is worse,” Geno said.  

Sidney laughed and pressed his face against Geno’s neck. They were in a warm bubble, just the two of them, protected by the music and the darkness, the crush of bodies around them. He knew they weren’t invisible and he knew he would be hearing about this from various teammates over the next few days, but he just—he didn’t _fucking_ care. Not when he had Geno pressed up against him, smelling like booze and sex, starting to get hard in his atrocious ripped jeans.  

“Let’s do it tonight,” he said impulsively. “Can we? Do you want to?” 

Geno gazed down at him. He stroked a thumb along Sidney’s cheekbone. “Come here,” he said, and led Sidney away from the crowded floor, up the stairs to the second story where it was quieter and they were alone. 

Geno sat in a booth and pulled Sidney down with him, and Sidney went, laughing and shifting around until he could get his knees planted on either side of Geno’s hips, straddling Geno’s lap. “This booth isn’t big enough for the both of us,” he said. 

“Your ass too big,” Geno said, “not my fault.” 

Sidney knocked the stupid hat off Geno’s head and took Geno’s face in his hands and kissed him, deep and wet. Geno groaned and kissed him back, his hands sliding along Sidney’s spine. He smelled _so_ good and Sidney could feel himself getting slick already, just from being close. It would be so easy to grind against Geno until they both came, and maybe that would be enough, frankly, but Sidney wanted Geno in a bed, naked, and he wanted to take their time. 

“Let’s go home,” he said, pressing sloppy kisses to Geno’s face. “Take me home with you. Or you can come to my place, I don’t care.” 

“Sid, you’re not in heat,” Geno said. 

Sidney pulled back and stared at him. “So?” 

Geno scoffed. “So? Harder to bond. Maybe we wait—” 

“I don’t think it’s going to be a problem,” Sidney said, thinking of how easy it had been the last time, how close they had come to bonding without trying at all. “Anyway, do you care? I mean…” He rocked his hips against Geno’s, making his point without words. “We can give it a shot.” 

“Okay,” Geno said, and swore in Russian, and said again, “Okay.”

\+ + +

They started kissing as soon as they were inside the house, and kept kissing the whole way up the stairs and into Geno’s bedroom, stumbling and laughing into each other’s mouths. Sidney lost his wig at the front door and his cloak somewhere in the stairwell, and finally managed to wrestle off Geno’s vest just inside the bedroom.

Then Geno encountered the clasps on Sidney’s breastplate/doublet and pulled away with an agonized groan. “Too hard, too much work. I give up, jack off and go to bed.” 

“You’re the worst,” Sidney said. He pulled Geno down into a hard kiss. “Get naked and I’ll deal with my costume, okay?” 

Geno had the easy end of that bargain: he was wearing regular clothes—well, regular for Geno—and it didn’t take him more than a couple of minutes to strip down and sprawl out on the bed, leaning back against the pillows with one hand on his erection, fingers toying with his foreskin and circling the pink head of his dick. It was incredibly distracting. Sidney fumbled with his top, gave up and kicked off his furry boots, tried the clasps again and managed to wrestle them open that time. His leggings were too tight. He couldn’t remember why he had chosen this stupid costume. 

Geno was laughing at him again. 

“Shut up,” Sidney said, unable to fight off his dopey grin. He couldn’t remember ever laughing this much during sex. It certainly hadn’t been like this the last time, both of them caught up in the furious intensity of Sidney’s heat.  

He liked it, so much that it sort of scared him. 

He wrestled off the last pieces of the costume and climbed on the bed to straddle Geno’s lap. Geno made a pleased noise and settled his hands at Sidney’s waist. His hair was a wreck from the cowboy hat. Sidney had never wanted anyone so much. He moved his hips in a filthy deliberate grind and bent his head to press his mouth to Geno’s. 

Geno kissed like there was nothing he would enjoy more, his mouth hot and demanding, the full force of his attention centered on Sidney. He seemed fully content to run his hands up and down Sidney’s back and rock their hips together and kiss Sidney again and again, and it was—too much, too intimate. Sidney shifted in Geno’s lap, not sure what to do, and Geno chuckled and slid his hands lower, his mouth trailing kisses along Sidney’s throat. 

“You’re never patient,” Geno said. Sidney could feel his mouth curled into a smile. His hands moved down to squeeze Sidney’s ass, and Sidney breathed in and tried to roll with it, but when Geno’s fingers slipped between his cheeks, Sidney froze. 

Geno went still as well. “Sid?” 

“Sorry,” Sidney said. “I don’t really like that.” 

Geno frowned at him. “Not like? But we—” The confusion on his face melted into horror. “Sid, when we—you didn’t like? I thought you…” He raised his hands to rub at his face. “If we do something you don’t like, you _tell_ me, Sid, have to _say_ —" 

“Oh,” Sidney said, realizing what Geno was getting at. “No, that isn’t—I did like it, Geno, I promise. It’s just, uh.” He could feel his face turning red. Having sex with Geno was one thing; talking about it was something else entirely. “I only like it when I’m in heat. Otherwise I don’t, you know. It isn’t my thing. But you didn’t do anything wrong, I was really—” He flushed hotter, remembering begging for it, down on his hands and knees. “I was really into it. When we did it. So.”  

“Okay,” Geno said.  

Sidney told himself to quit being such a baby. “Touching is okay. And fingers. I like being fingered. But I don’t like being fucked.” 

“No problem,” Geno said. “You do me.” 

And that was—wow. Sidney was absolutely on board, but— “I think you probably need to knot me,” he said. “You know. For the bond.” 

Geno groaned and threw his head back against the pillows. “Stop make everything so complicated,” he said. “Worry too much. Tonight we do what we like, and if there’s no bond, okay, we wait until you go in heat. No problems.”  

“Okay,” Sidney said. 

Geno rolled them over, grumbling to himself in Russian. He pinned Sidney to the mattress and gazed down at him, as serious as Geno ever got. “You think alpha is one way, omega is one way, only one way to do things. But it’s just two of us in bed. We do what feels good, what we like. Stop thinking so much.” He sat up and reached over to fish a bottle of lube out of the nightstand. Sidney watched the shift of muscles in Geno’s shoulders and felt like he was dangling at the edge of a precipice, his grip slowly giving out. It was a long way down and he didn’t know what waited for him at the bottom. 

Geno slicked both of their erections and Sidney’s fingers and went down on his elbows again, hovering over Sidney on the mattress. He drew his knees up and bent to kiss Sidney’s cheek. Sidney’s heart hammered in his chest. He slid his clean hand down the long plane of Geno’s back, down into the crease of Geno’s ass, his dry fingers catching on Geno’s hole. “Yes, come on,” Geno said, and so Sidney held him open and stroked him with his lube-slick fingers, over and over, rubbing at the sensitive pucker until Geno pushed back into the touch with an impatient groan.  

Very carefully, moving so slowly, he pressed one finger into the tight clutch of Geno’s body. He had never once imagined he would be here, feeling Geno pant against his neck as he worked a finger into Geno’s ass. The angle wasn’t great, but Geno didn’t seem to mind, pressing back against Sidney’s hand and then saying, “Another, give me,” and Sidney did. 

“Ah, God,” Geno said. He slid his knees apart and settled fully on top of Sidney, their cocks pressed together between their bodies. Sidney buried his face against Geno’s neck and tried not to lose his mind as Geno fucked himself on Sidney’s fingers and made absolutely mind-melting noises, breathy gasps and moans like he was getting exactly what he wanted. Everything was wet and hot, his fingers in Geno’s ass and their cocks grinding together, Sidney’s thighs a mess from his own slick, Geno’s damp breath against his throat and then Geno’s teeth in a bright sharp circle just where he had left the last mark. Sidney felt himself unraveling, lost in Geno’s smell and the inescapable rhythm of their bodies moving together. 

It was easy to want Geno, it was easy to think about how long they had known each other and how much Sidney trusted him. Geno was busy sucking a mark onto Sidney’s skin, claiming Sidney as his, and Sidney gave himself permission, just for that one moment, to feel everything, all of the complicated emotions he had been steadfastly tamping down for years. 

“Sid,” Geno said urgently, and Sidney could feel it too: the first tender stirrings of a bond. 

Sidney closed his eyes, awash with relief. 

“Ah, Sid,” Geno said, clumsily kissing Sidney’s face, his lips bumping against Sidney’s cheekbone. He got louder after that and moved faster and pushed his hips down harder. Sidney was on fire, dazed from the forming bond and from Geno moving above him, pressed skin to skin. “Fuck,  _fuck_ ,” Geno chanted, and clenched around Sidney’s fingers and came all over Sidney’s belly. 

It was the easiest thing in the world to rub against Geno’s hip a few more times and let go. 

Sidney went limp against the mattress. Geno made a contented noise and rested his head on Sidney’s shoulder. He was heavy, but Sidney didn’t want to tell him to move just yet. He wiped his hand on the sheet and wrapped his arms around Geno’s back.  

He would get out of bed in a minute and clean up. Just one more minute.

\+ + +

Sidney woke with Geno spooning him, huge and warm, and one of Geno’s hands toying with his balls. He was hard, and Geno was hard, too; he could feel Geno’s erection rubbing against his ass, and he could feel, very faintly, Geno’s sleepy arousal. The bond between them was thin and fragile in its newness, but it was there.

“Morning,” Geno said, and kissed the back of Sidney’s neck. 

“Hi,” Sidney said. He arched against Geno in wordless encouragement, and Geno took the hint and moved his hand to Sidney’s cock. Sidney reached down and tucked Geno’s dick between his thighs. Geno must have been playing with him for a while, because he was slick with arousal, and when Geno rocked his hips it was an easy slide. 

“Feel so good,” Geno said. The head of his dick slid across Sidney’s hole and nudged against his balls with every stroke, and Sidney probably could have gotten off on that alone, given enough time. Geno’s hand on his cock was a little too loose, but everything else was so good that it didn’t matter at all. Sidney was getting a steady stream of weak feedback though the bond, little flashes of Geno’s smug enjoyment. Geno was way too pleased with himself. 

Geno laughed. “Grumpy,” he said, and tightened his hand a little, working Sidney just right. 

“I’m not grumpy,” Sidney said, “I’m—oh,” and he gave up on talking for a while. 

After, a little more awake, they traded off in the shower and at the sink. Geno gave Sidney a toothbrush and a towel, and then, when Sidney surveyed his rumpled costume with dismay, a change of clothes. The t-shirt was too small and the sweatpants were too long, but they didn’t have practice until the afternoon, and Sidney had plenty of time to go home and change.  

“I make breakfast,” Geno said, toweling his hair and watching Sidney roll up the sweatpants. 

“Oh,” Sidney said. “You don’t have to.” 

Geno rolled his eyes. “I’m offer. And is good for bond. Stay close, be together.” 

He had a point. The bond would take a few days to settle, and they could still screw it up by spending too much time apart. “Okay,” Sidney said. “Do you have turkey bacon?” 

Geno didn’t, but he had back bacon, the _real_ kind, and small red potatoes that he roasted with some olive oil and sea salt. Geno made coffee and a juice blend with spinach and a banana, and they sat at the breakfast table to eat, like civilized people, instead of just standing over the counter with a plate the way Sidney normally did. He kept glancing at Geno, unable to help himself, and each time Geno was looking back at him, a small smile on his face. 

“I guess we’ll tell management today,” Sidney said, largely to distract himself from the—from what he was feeling. 

“Okay,” Geno said. 

“Maybe after practice, though,” Sidney said. “Then we’ll see how Warsofsky reacts to me.” 

“Okay,” Geno said again. “Whatever you like.” Sidney couldn’t read anything from him now. It had seemed so easy when they were in bed together, but now Geno was closed off to him, his expression bland, everything locked down tight. 

Sidney pushed a few potatoes across his plate. “Thank you, by the way. For doing this.” 

“Don’t have to thank,” Geno said. He pursed his lips, and then shrugged. “You ask, I say yes. I’m not do this for a—a favor.” 

“Oh,” Sidney said. He wanted to ask why Geno was doing it, then, but everything about Geno’s body language made him think he wouldn’t get a straight answer. 

“Finish breakfast,” Geno said. “We go to your house, get workout clothes, go to rink.” 

“Okay,” Sidney said. “I’ll—” 

“No, I drive,” Geno said, and grinned when Sidney scowled at him. 

Geno abandoned him when they got to the rink. “Need to see trainer,” Geno said, eyes wide like he thought that made him look innocent. “Tell me what Mario say.” 

“You should really come with me,” Sidney said. 

“Can’t, no time,” Geno said, “bye, Sid,” and Geno was an asshole and he wasn’t funny at all, but Sidney found himself smiling anyway. 

He went to see Dr. Vyas first. His hormone levels were the same as they had been the day before. It wasn’t progress, but it wasn’t a regression, either. He would take it. 

Then he went downstairs to talk to Mario. The door to Mario’s office was open, and Sidney went in after rapping his knuckles against the frame.  

Mario looked up from his computer with a smile. “Sidney. It’s good to see you. How are things?”

“Good,” Sidney said. “You have a few minutes?” 

“For you, always,” Mario said. “Have a seat. Did you enjoy the party last night?” 

“Sure,” Sidney said. “That's actually—sort of what I wanted to talk to you about.” He rubbed his hands along his thighs, feeling nervous for some reason. “Geno and I—well, we bonded last night.” 

Mario raised his eyebrows. “When you met with us on Saturday, you hadn’t even spoken with Geno yet.” 

“Well,” Sidney said. “I talked to him about it yesterday morning, and he agreed.” It was true it had all happened pretty quickly, but once he made up his mind he hadn’t seen any reason to delay. Geno was single, he liked men, and he had years of experience playing dumb with the media; he was really the perfect candidate. And it had been—it had just seemed right, to go home with Geno, to let it happen. It had been so easy. 

“What does this mean for you?” Mario asked. 

“I’ll find out at practice,” Sidney said. “Warsofsky has been, uh. Interested. I’ll let you guys know what happens, and I guess we can go from there.” 

“And what does this mean for you on a personal level?” Mario asked. 

Sidney shrugged. He wasn’t totally sure what Mario was getting at. “I’m grateful to Geno for helping me. He’s a good friend.” Mario kept looking at him like there was something else he wanted Sidney to say, so Sidney added, “We’ll probably be able to break the bond in a few months. It isn’t a big deal.” 

“All right,” Mario said, shaking his head. “Let me know what happens.”

\+ + +

Warsofsky didn’t so much as glance at him during practice. Sidney didn’t let himself believe it until halfway through, and then he had to spend a few minutes sitting on the bench, staring down at his shaking hands. He was going to be able to play.

“Sid, you okay?” Sullivan asked, and Sidney nodded and swallowed and said, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“Sid got his ass kicked at beer pong last night,” Kuni said. 

“I’m not _hungover_ from _beer pong_ ,” Sidney said. 

“That’s not the only thing that happened to his ass,” Flower said, and Sidney groaned and went back out on the ice to escape the chirping. 

Tanger and Geno got into a scuffle toward the end of practice, Geno shouting and waving his arms around and Tanger actually shoving him hard enough to make Geno slide backward on the ice. They were down at the other net and Sidney couldn’t hear what they were arguing about, but he could feel Geno’s anger and started skating down there without thinking about it. 

Daley blocked him, looking apologetic about it. “I don’t think you should go over there.” 

Sidney stared at him. “Don’t you think somebody needs to break that up?” 

“Not really,” Daley said. “Let them work it out.”  

Alpha business, he meant. Sidney was sick to death of being managed, but he let it go and refocused his attention on the drill they were running. He sensed Geno leaving the ice a few minutes later, a feeling like a rubber band stretching as Geno moved further away. He wasn’t Geno’s keeper; he would check in later, the way he would with any other teammate. 

Tanger grabbed him after practice ended. “We need to have a conversation,” he said, and towed Sidney down the hall to the empty laundry room. “Talk.” 

“Me? Why don’t you tell me what you were fighting with Geno about?” Sidney said. “What the fuck, Tanger. I know you guys can butt heads, but fighting like that isn’t okay.” 

“We were fighting about you, of course,” Tanger said. “As it seems the two of you got  _bonded_.” 

Sidney rolled his eyes. He knew Tanger would be able to smell it on them, but he hadn’t really thought much of it or expected Tanger to feel like he deserved to be notified. “Yeah, and? I needed to get your permission first?” 

Tanger folded his arms across his chest. “I think you should have confided in your friends before making a big move like that, yes. You’re not a child, but you’re acting like a selfish child.” 

“It’s not like I forced him into it,” Sidney said, stung and annoyed. “And I talked to management, they all thought it was a good idea—” 

“They are all betas,” Tanger said. “They don’t know. I should have talked to you after you had sex with him, but Flower convinced me I was overreacting. This is why you shouldn’t listen to betas about these things. They don’t understand.”  

“Why am I the bad guy here all of a sudden?” Sidney asked. “I thought you guys were all worried about _me_ , about my non-existent virtue, or whatever.” 

“We were worried about multiple things,” Tanger said. 

“I don’t know what that means,” Sidney said. “What things?” 

“Sid, I’m always your friend,” Tanger said, “but I care about Geno, too. I think nobody is thinking about him in this situation. You aren’t thinking about him, and he isn’t thinking about himself. Someone needs to worry about him, and right now, that’s me.”  

“Why are you worried about Geno?” Sidney asked. He was starting to get frustrated with Tanger’s refusal to just say what he meant. “He’s fine.” 

Tanger shook his head, his lips compressed. He looked genuinely angry, and Sidney felt like he was missing something crucial, like there were two conversations going on here and he was only following one of them. "Geno has never bonded, did you know that? He never bonded with Oksana, or with Kirill.” 

“Oh,” Sidney said. Had he known that? He had never paid much attention to that sort of thing. The suppressants made it easy to ignore. “Okay?” 

“Yes, _oh_ ,” Tanger said. “He was with both of them for years, and they never—and now he’s bonded with you, for _hockey_. You are very foolish.” 

“Look, I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up about this,” Sidney said. “It’s not a big deal. It’s only until my suppressants get sorted out, and then we’ll break the bond. Geno and I are on the same page about this and it isn’t going to cause any problems for the team.” 

“The team, who cares about the team?” Tanger said. “This isn’t about the team, you stubborn piece of shit. This is about _you_ very—very carelessly asking Geno for something you never should have asked him for, and him being stupid enough to go along with it. Bonding isn’t _casual_ , it isn’t something you do on a whim, it’s something you do because you _mean it_ , and you know this very well, Sid. You aren’t a beta. You know what bonding means.” 

Tanger had gotten kind of loud, and the room seemed very quiet after he finished speaking. Sidney squared his shoulders. He felt wrong-footed and angry, and knew he was never at his best when he got defensive. “I hear what you’re saying,” he said carefully, “and I know—” 

“What’s done is done,” Tanger interrupted. “You bonded with Geno, but don’t forget that Geno also bonded with you. There are two of you in this now. Don’t forget.” 

“I know that,” Sidney said. “I won’t forget.” 

“Okay,” Tanger said. He sighed and clapped Sidney on the shoulder. “ _Bonne chance_ , my friend.”

\+ + +

Geno drove him home that afternoon. They didn’t speak, both of them wrapped up in their own thoughts. Sidney stared out the window and mulled over what Tanger had said. He had expected that Flower and Tanger and Kuni would, if anything, be mad at Geno for taking advantage of Sidney, or whatever it was they thought, but instead it seemed that _Sidney_ was now the primary target of disapproval. But it wasn’t like he had been sneaking around; he had kept everything above-board, and he had been as honest with Geno as he knew how, and Geno had said yes. They were both adults and had made an informed decision, and the more he thought about it, the more annoyed he got that Tanger thought it was any of his fucking business.

“You’re angry,” Geno said as he exited the freeway. 

“What were you fighting with Tanger about at practice?” Sidney asked. 

Geno didn’t reply for long enough that Sidney thought he wasn’t going to. Then he said, “He thinks I make a mistake, bonding with you.” 

Sidney picked at a loose thread on his sweatpants. “Why?” 

Geno scoffed. “Tanger thinks bond is for true love, get marry, babies. Go to Paris, kiss on Eiffel Tower. Stupid. Bond is what you make it. We have bond, it’s real, so we’re bonded.” 

“You mean we can decide what being bonded means to us,” Sidney said.  

“Yes,” Geno said. “Not for Tanger to say.” He glanced at Sidney. “For you, bond means hockey.” 

“What does it mean for you?” Sidney asked, and he couldn’t have said why he was pushing the issue, but he really wanted to know. 

Geno again took a long time to answer. “Means I play hockey with you,” he said at last. 

It was obvious that Geno wasn’t being totally honest with him, but Sidney recognized the way Geno was holding his shoulders and decided it was time to change the subject. “Do you want to stay at my place tonight, or do you want me to come over to your house later?” He didn’t like Geno’s house, which was big and ugly, filled with weird art and taxidermy and too many marble columns, but he would go over there if Geno wanted, partly to prove that he could be flexible. 

Geno shrugged. “Stay with you is fine, but I need go to my house tomorrow before skate. You play tomorrow?” 

“I don’t know yet,” Sidney said. “Sullivan said they’re going to decide today and let me know.” He was certain they would clear him. There was no reason not to, and he—if they cleared him, he could play tomorrow night. It was everything he wanted. 

At home, he told Geno to make himself comfortable and went about his usual routine. He unloaded the dishwasher, did some prep work for dinner, and picked out his suit for the next day. He made some phone calls to his family and friends; they deserved to hear the news from him and not from, well, the news. He expected the conversation with his parents to be the most challenging, and it was. His dad was worried about Sidney’s status with the team, and his mom cried. Nate laughed for three solid minutes, hung up, and texted Sidney a long string of indecipherable emojis. Jack asked if Sidney wanted him to come for a visit. Taylor said, “When you get married, I expect to be the best woman.” 

Sidney groaned. “We aren’t getting married.” 

“Tell that to someone who hasn’t listened to you talk about him for the last decade,” Taylor said. “Seriously, though, you’re okay? Everything’s good?” 

“Everything’s good,” he said, and tried not to think about the way Geno had pressed endless kisses against the back of his neck that morning in bed. “I promise.”  

When he went downstairs to put the salmon in the oven, Geno was sprawled out on the couch in the den, his enormous socked feet propped up on the armrest. He was watching the local news, something about a fire at an apartment complex. Sidney stopped in the doorway and said, “Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes, if you’re hungry.” 

Geno smiled and wiggled his toes. “You make fish?” 

“Yeah, and sweet potatoes and broccoli,” Sidney said. “And we can open a bottle of wine, if you want.” 

“Yes,” Geno said. “Dessert?” 

Sidney sighed. Busted. “I’ve got some raspberry sorbet.” 

“Very healthy,” Geno said. “Yes, good. Feed me.” 

Sidney took a cue from breakfast at Geno’s that morning and set the table, and even, after a moment of thought, lit the candles he’d bought when Nathalie told him his table was too bare. Then he wondered if the candles were too much, and blew them out. But then the room smelled like smoke, so maybe Geno would get curious, so he lit the candles again, and then couldn’t believe he’d just wasted that much time worrying about fucking candles. Geno probably wouldn’t even notice. 

Geno noticed, one eyebrow lifted. “Nice. Fancy.” 

“Only the best for company,” Sidney said, trying to cover up how flustered he felt.  

“Company,” Geno said.  

“Let’s eat,” Sidney said, a little desperately. “Do you want to eat?” 

They ate, and cleaned up together afterward, moving around each other in the kitchen. Something about the sight of Geno padding around in his saggy, stretched-out white socks made Sidney’s chest feel tight. He spent a lot of time alone in the evenings, and it was—nice to have someone else in the house. Geno was undemanding and seemed content to leave Sidney to his own devices, and that paradoxically made Sidney want to settle down in the den with him after dinner. They stretched out on separate couches and watched a movie Geno settled on after some channel-flipping, something with lots of explosions and a scantily-clad lady as the main character, and it was just—it was nice. 

His phone rang in the middle of a car chase. Geno immediately fumbled for the remote, but Sidney waved him off and went into the other room. 

It was Jim. “I won’t waste time with pleasantries,” he said. “You’re in the lineup tomorrow night.” 

Sidney let out a shaky breath. “I—thank you.” 

“If Mike pulls you, I don’t want any arguing,” Jim said. “If someone so much as _looks_ at you funny, you’re benched for the rest of the game. We aren’t taking any stupid risks with you.” 

“For sure,” Sidney said. “I’ll try to behave.” 

Jim laughed. “I’m glad to hear it. We’ll see you, Sid.” 

Sidney ended the call. Geno was standing in the doorway, backlit by the television. “Okay?” 

“I’m playing tomorrow,” Sidney said, hearing the disbelief in his voice as he said the words. 

Geno lit up. “Sid,” he said. The bond stretched between them, stronger now than it had been even that afternoon. He could see the uncertainty on Geno’s face, the desire to touch warring with the frank unfamiliarity of their new relationship.  

“Yeah. It’s good,” Sidney said, letting his mouth talk without paying much attention to what he was saying. He was too busy watching Geno’s face, letting Geno’s delight convince him that it was really happening. Joy filled him like a rising tide. “I’m—I can play.” 

\+ + +

They slept in the same bed that night—just slept, one of Geno’s hands at Sidney’s waist, their feet tangled together beneath the sheets. Sidney woke up sweaty and overheated, wrapped in Geno’s arms, and poked at Geno until he grumbled and opened his eyes.

“Too early,” Geno complained. 

“The alarm’s going off in ten minutes,” Sidney said. “Morning skate.” 

“So? Ten minutes,” Geno said, pulling Sidney close and closing his eyes again. 

“Well, I thought we could, uh,” Sidney said, and gave up on words in favor of pressing his hips against Geno’s. 

Geno smirked without opening his eyes. “Mm, you want?” He slid his hands down Sidney’s back to squeeze his ass. “It’s good for bond.” 

Geno was going to get a lot of mileage out of claiming things were good for the bond. Sidney didn’t care; it got him what he wanted: Geno’s mouth on his neck, one of Geno’s thighs riding up between his legs. They rubbed off against each other, slow and hot. Sidney’s skin was slick with sweat and Geno’s hands were everywhere, his mouth was everywhere, sour with sleep. Sidney clung to him and let Geno’s soft pleased noises slowly take him apart. 

They showered and Sidney drove them to the rink, ignoring all of Geno’s chirping about his driving. Speed limits existed for a reason.  

“You happy,” Geno said. “Excited.” 

“Hmm?” Sidney said absently, coming to a stop at a red light. 

“Keep humming,” Geno said. “Tap steering wheel.” He drummed his fingers against his sternum. “I feel it, how happy you are.” 

“Oh,” Sidney said, feeling oddly caught out, like Geno had learned an embarrassing secret about him. But there wasn’t anything embarrassing about being excited to play hockey. “Well, yeah. It’s been a long month. You, uh. You know how I get,” because Geno had lived through Sidney’s concussion. “So, yeah, I’m happy.” 

“I’m happy too,” Geno said. 

The light turned green then, and Sidney was grateful for an excuse to look away from the warmth in Geno’s gaze. 

He met with Jen before skate to talk about his press conference that night. She had drafted a statement for him, and he read it over and made a few changes, but Jen knew him so well by now that it was more or less what he would have written, only better.  

“You don’t have to read it word for word,” she told him. “I trust you to stay on message.” 

He smiled at her. Their working relationship was one of the unexpected pleasures of his job. The trust she had in him was fully returned; Jen had never led him astray. “Easy enough.” 

“We should talk strategy a little,” she said. “I’m operating under the assumption that you want as little attention paid to this issue as possible, and the advice I’m about to give you is based on that assumption. Correct me if I’m wrong.” 

Sidney shook his head. She wasn’t wrong. 

“Okay,” she said. “I’m also completely agnostic about the nature of your relationship with Geno. So my advice applies no matter what’s really going on with the two of you.” 

“Geno is—” 

“No, I don’t care,” Jen said. “It isn’t my business until it needs to be, and right now it doesn’t need to be. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Sidney said. He needed another cup of coffee. 

“The main thing is not to change your behavior,” Jen said. “Everything needs to stay the same. No carpooling. No shared cabs unless there’s a third person with you. No claim marks anywhere that’s visible on camera, keep it covered if you want to do that.” She eyed the two-day-old mark on Sidney’s neck, and he fought the urge to cover it with one hand. “That one’s okay, since you just got bonded. People will expect to see it. But that’s the last one unless you want to spark off Bump Watch 2016.” 

“Please never say that again,” Sidney pleaded. 

“That’s what would happen and you know it,” Jen said ruthlessly. “If Geno’s your teammate and only your teammate, you both need to act like it. You’ll have to use your own discretion here to some extent. You know better than I do what can be explained away and what will get people talking.” 

“We’re spending a lot of time together right now,” Sidney admitted. “Uh, spending the night with each other. The bond is still new, so. We need to give it some time to stabilize.” 

Jen pressed her lips together. “That’s not great, but there’s a clear reason for it. Just make sure you stop as soon as you can.” 

“We will,” Sidney said, ignoring the way his stomach sank. He liked sharing a bed with Geno, making meals together, hanging out in the evenings, and it was a good thing they would be able to stop after a few more days. He liked it too much, more than he was allowed to. “Anything else?” 

She shook her head. “I’ll talk with Geno later. I’m counting on you to keep him in line. You know he doesn’t always listen to me.” She sounded fond, but Sidney knew she meant it. 

“Okay,” Sidney said. He folded the statement into quarters and tucked it in his jacket. He would look it over a few times before the game. “Thanks, Jen. See you later.” 

The rest of the morning followed a familiar and comforting pattern: skate, press, cool down, shower, stretch, team meeting, lunch. After some waffling about changing his routine, Sidney decided the bond took precedence for the moment, and he and Geno went back to Geno’s house to nap. It was—dangerously nice, to sleep curled up close in Geno’s enormous bed. Nothing they were doing was even remotely smart or safe, and Sidney couldn’t bring himself care. He wasn’t going to stop. 

“What do you want to tell the team?” he asked Geno as they drove back to the arena before the game. They were in Geno’s car this time, his stupid tiny Porsche. He made Geno drive to his house first so they could at least take the proper route to the arena. 

Geno shrugged. “I think they know already. We say before warmup, they chirp a lot, then we skate. It’s easy.”  

“If you do the talking, I’ll handle the press statement later,” Sidney said. “I won’t even ask you to be in the room with me.” 

“Deal,” Geno said immediately, and Sidney grinned: he and Jen had already talked about how it would be best for him to give the statement alone to minimize any appearance that he and Geno were a couple. He had zero shame about pulling a greasy move like that on Geno, who still at times pretended not to speak English when he didn’t want to talk to reporters. Let Geno explain things to the team. Sidney had done enough talking about it. 

Geno was a dick, but he was also very serious about bets and deals of any sort, which was what made him such a good Fine Master. When everyone was in the dressing room getting changed for warmup, Geno stood up and banged his water bottle against the back of his stall. “Pay attention!” he yelled. “I have important announcement!” 

Sidney bent over and covered his face with one hand. Geno’s theatrics never boded well. 

“Nobody wants to hear about your dick, G,” Hags said. 

“Shut up, it’s not about my dick,” Geno said. “Sid is play tonight because we bond. Anyone have question, you ask me, don’t ask Sid. He’s tired of talk about it, too busy play hockey to listen to dumb bullshit.” 

Sidney kept his head down. He didn’t want to see everyone staring at him. He wondered how Geno knew he was tired of talking about it, whether it was the bond or if it was just obvious how sick to death he was of the entire subject. 

“When’s the wedding?” someone asked. It sounded like Horny. 

“Not funny,” Geno said. He banged his water bottle again. “Bond is for hockey. No jokes about this, you make Sid very sad, then I fine you. Okay, now we go skate.” 

Kuni, sitting beside him, patted Sidney on the helmet. “Come on, Sid. Everyone’s cool with it.” 

Sidney sat up and risked a glance around the locker room. Nobody looked surprised, at least. “Geno said everyone already knew.” 

“Have you been trying to hide it?” Kuni asked. “You left the Halloween party together, it wasn’t exactly subtle. And then with Tanger and Geno fighting yesterday—none of the alphas would talk, but we all knew something was up. It doesn’t really come as a surprise.” 

“It’s just for hockey,” Sidney said. “We aren’t going to be weird about it.” 

“Sure,” Kuni said, looking like he was anything but sure. “I know you aren't.” 

“What the fuck are you all still doing in here?” Sullivan asked from the doorway. “Get your asses on the ice.”

\+ + +

They won against the Panthers, 3-2. Sidney scored in the second off a beautiful pass from Geno, and hearing the goal horn go off was the best fucking feeling in the world. There was no trouble from the Panthers’ two unbonded alphas: they checked him and skated off, the same as with any other player—although Jagr did narrow his eyes at Sidney across the face-off circle and say, “Are congratulations in order?”

“Keep your eyes on the fucking puck, eh,” Sidney said, and handily won the face-off. 

The locker room afterward was a mess in the best way, everyone in high spirits and cracking jokes, just all wound up. Sidney didn’t get much time to enjoy it. As soon as Sullivan was done talking to them, Jen swooped in, all business, and dragged him off for his presser. 

She had every last detail worked out. She told him to stay in his sweaty base layers to remind everyone that he was first and foremost a hockey player, and she even let him keep his hat on; but she made him sit to have makeup applied to his neck, leaving the claim mark visible but toning it down to a level she considered acceptable.  

“Don’t touch it,” the makeup girl said, smacking his hand with a brush. 

“It’s sticky,” Sidney said. 

Jen rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a baby. Women deal with this every day.” 

“Women are tougher than I am,” Sidney said. 

“You have no idea,” Jen said. “Okay, let’s go.” 

Sidney had given more press conferences than he could count, and this one was no different, not really. There was no reason to be nervous. The gathered reporters didn’t know what he was going to announce, and they looked at him with bland expectancy as he entered the room. One of them was an alpha—Sidney could smell her—and her gaze sharpened as he climbed up to the podium. She leaned forward in her seat, and the last of Sidney’s reservations were put to rest. Going public was the right decision. There was no way they would have been able to keep the bond hidden. 

Sidney cleared his throat and adjusted the microphone. “Hi, everyone.”   

“Great game tonight,” someone called out, and everyone laughed. 

“It’s good to be back,” Sidney said, letting himself smile as widely as he wanted to. Let them see how much he loved playing hockey. It could only help his case. 

He read the statement, and then he waited a few moments for the startled reporters to gather their thoughts. Then everyone’s hands went up at once. 

“He’ll answer three questions,” Jen said. “Jonathan, we’ll start with you.” 

Jonathan was the beat reporter for the Tribune-Review; Sidney knew him fairly well, and Jonathan gave him an encouraging smile before speaking. “Sidney, won’t this give you and Geno an unfair advantage on the ice?”  

He had expected that question, but he still had to fight not to roll his eyes. Mainstream beta culture had really romanticized bonding; if Hollywood were to be believed, every bonded couple could communicate telepathically and heal any wound short of a bullet to the heart. “Bonds don’t really work that way,” he said. “I can tell if Geno is close by or far away, and I can usually tell if he’s experiencing any strong emotions. But that’s about it.” He paused. “And anyone who’s seen him play already knows that Geno experiences strong emotions during hockey games, so.” 

The reporters laughed dutifully. 

The next question was another softball, about the team’s reaction. “They’ve been very supportive,” Sidney said, which wasn’t the entire truth, but it was close enough. “We’ve got a great group of guys here.” 

“Last question,” Jen said, and picked someone Sidney didn’t recognize, a woman in a dark suit. 

“Thanks,” the woman said. “Sidney, do you think it’s justifiable to let your personal life take the spotlight like this instead of focusing attention on the team?” 

It was a shitty question, and Jen’s lips pressed together in a thin line, but she motioned for Sidney to go ahead.  

“The team is my top priority,” he said carefully. “That’s why Geno and I decided to bond. I want to be able to play and support the team. We decided to make a public statement to, uh, head off any speculation. It’s like with anything else that keeps you out of the game, you want to do whatever it takes to get back in the lineup. We don’t want this to be the big story of our season and we’re hoping we can all get back to the important stuff, which is playing good hockey. The team’s coming together well and I think this is going to be a good year for us.” 

“That’s all, thank you,” Jen said, and she shuffled Sidney out the door. 

“You did great,” she told Sidney as they headed back to the locker room. “I’ll make it clear you aren’t going to talk about anything related to heat, bonding, or Geno, and I’ll stick with you when you do press over the next few weeks to make sure nobody gets out of line. I’m hoping they’ll give up soon and it will be business as usual.” 

“I hope so,” Sidney said. “Thanks, Jen.” 

She hesitated for a few seconds, and then said, “Look, I’m just going to say this, and you don’t have to say anything in response. If you change your mind at any point, if Geno is ever more than a teammate or you get tired of hiding, we can change the strategy. The organization will stand behind you no matter what.” 

Sidney ducked his head, not sure what to say. “I—okay. I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Geno was waiting for him in the locker room, still wearing his base layers. He perked up when Sidney and Jen came in. “It’s go okay?” 

“Sure,” Sidney said. He was starving, and he needed to stretch before his muscles got too cold. “I need to—have you eaten yet?” 

Geno shook his head. “Finish cool down, need to shower still. I wait for you, eat together, then we go home.” 

Sidney glanced at Jen, who looked back at him impassively. He was a little reluctant to leave Geno alone with her, but Geno was an adult and could handle whatever she was planning to say. “Okay. Sounds good.”

\+ + +

It was after eleven by the time they left the arena. Sidney was still wired from the game and the press conference. Geno drove like a madman, and for once Sidney didn’t protest beyond clinging to the assist handle when Geno took a turn too hard. He was eager to get home.

“Hey,” he said. “That pass you made was fucking beautiful.” 

Geno grinned. “Have to say welcome back, Sid. It’s good for you to score, makes fans happy, maybe reporters don’t ask so much about bond.”  

“Well. Thanks,” Sidney said, a little disconcerted that Geno was thinking about media strategy. “It was a nice pass. You’ve been playing really great this season.” 

Geno shook his head, dismissing the compliment the way he always did, unwilling to accept any praise. “We go to my house,” he said, making the turn. 

Sidney shrugged. He was in too good of a mood to argue. “That’s fine.” 

Geno didn’t speak until he pulled into the driveway and cut the engine. Instead of getting out of the car, he turned to Sidney, one hand hooked on the back of Sidney’s seat. “Jen say we need to be careful.” 

“She mentioned,” Sidney said. He was intensely curious about what Jen had said to Geno and didn’t want to say anything that would make Geno clam up. 

“Not bite you,” Geno said, brushing his fingertips against the mark on Sidney’s neck. “Not touch a lot, not do ‘alpha thing.’” Sidney could picture Jen making finger quotes, and bit down on a grin. “Not sneak in your hotel room.” 

Jen definitely thought they were going to keep having sex. It was a safe assumption. “We’ll just have to make sure we don’t get caught, eh?” 

Geno drew in a sharp breath. “You want me in hotel room?” 

“I want you all the time,” Sidney said, and breathed in as the scent of Geno’s arousal filled the car. 

“In, inside,” Geno said, and they stumbled into the house, Sidney laughing maybe a little hysterically, but he couldn’t help the way he felt, the way being with Geno made him feel. 

In Geno’s bedroom, he slowed down long enough to shake out his suit and hang it up, fussing with the crease in his trousers largely to make Geno complain. “So slow,” Geno said, already sprawled naked on the bed, “so picky. You have fifteen suits, leave it and come here.” 

“I like to take good care of my clothes,” Sidney said, really digging in now and hoping he wouldn’t smile and give himself away. 

Geno groaned. “Come here, I want to sit on your dick.” 

“Geno,” Sidney said, shocked and delighted, and tripped on the carpet in his haste to join Geno on the bed. 

Geno was laughing at him. “Shut up,” Sidney said, “I can’t—you can’t say things like that.”  

“Not my fault you get so excited,” Geno said, and pulled him down into a searing kiss. 

Sidney had kissed his fair share of men over the years, and some women too. None of them kissed the way Geno did. He could feel through the bond how intent Geno was, fully focused on his slow and thorough exploration of Sidney’s mouth, and it was—overwhelming, really, to have Geno kissing him and stroking his back, hard and warm beneath him. 

He lost himself in it. By the time Geno pulled away, Sidney’s lips felt swollen and oversensitive. Geno gazed up at him, his own lips red and wet, and touched his fingertips to Sidney’s mouth. “Very pretty,” he said. 

Sidney flushed hard. The words sounded mocking, but he could tell how much Geno meant them, how earnest he was in his appreciation. “I—that’s not the right word. For a man.” 

“I think it’s right word for you,” Geno said, smirking a little. “Okay, come on.” He got one arm around Sidney’s waist and rolled them so that he was on top. “You going to give me what I want?” 

“I hope so,” Sidney said. He didn’t mean just the sex, and from the way Geno looked at him, dark-eyed and tender, he thought Geno probably knew. 

Geno kissed him again and then said, “Okay, where’s lube?” and Sidney laughed and said, “It’s your house, G, you tell me.” 

Geno made a disgruntled noise and rolled away to rummage through the nightstand drawer. “Can’t remember where I put.” He knocked a box of tissues off the nightstand and swore under his breath. 

There was a bottle on the nightstand closer to Sidney. “It’s right here,” he said, reaching to grab it. 

Geno turned to look and narrowed his eyes. “Wrong kind. Good for jack off, not for fucking.” He climbed off the bed and went into the en suite, and Sidney lay there and thought about what it meant that Geno had a preferred lube for taking it up the ass. He had thought—well, Geno was known to indulge him, and he had sort of thought that was what Geno was doing, going along with what Sidney wanted and—and certainly not disliking it, but it wasn’t necessarily his favorite thing. But he thought of how much Geno had seemed to like what they did the night of the Halloween party, and imagined Geno making those same noises with Sidney inside him, which was devastatingly hot, the sort of thing that featured in Sidney’s dirtiest and most well-worn fantasies.  

Geno came back out of the washroom, naked and hard, and holding a tube in one hand. He paused in the doorway, and Sidney wasn’t born yesterday; he dropped one hand to his dick and let his eyes fall halfway shut, let his mouth fall open as he stroked himself. Geno was so big, a little soft around the middle, the sparse thatch of his pubic hair framing his erection, and the noise Sidney made was only partly for show. 

“Yes, get ready for me,” Geno said, lazily pleased as a cat. 

“I’m ready,” Sidney said, “I’m good to go, any day now—” 

“Crosby chirps, always weak,” Geno said, but he got back in bed, so Sidney was willing to ignore the trash talk. 

Geno straddled his hips, settling in right on top of Sidney’s erection. His cock was huge and hard and right there, and Sidney’s mouth watered thinking about sucking him. He wanted to feel the fat head of Geno’s dick stretching his jaw open, but he wanted to fuck Geno more. 

He slid his hands up Geno’s thighs, deliberately avoiding Geno’s cock in favor of stroking the soft crease of Geno’s hip. Geno coated his fingers with lube and reached behind himself, and Sidney couldn’t see what he was doing but he knew very well, he could see the way Geno’s eyelids fluttered and his mouth dropped open. 

“Let me,” Sidney said, reaching back blindly, “Geno, I want to.” Geno’s shoulder was moving as he worked himself open, a mind-blowing tease with the way Sidney could tell what he was doing but couldn’t see anything. He found Geno’s wrist and followed the line of his hand to where he had two fingers buried all the way to the knuckle. Everything was slick with lube: Geno’s fingers, the stretched rim of his hole. “Let me,” Sidney said again, and Geno rolled his eyes but held his hand still as Sidney pushed his middle finger in. 

Geno opened to him so easily. Sidney kept his eyes on Geno’s face, drinking in every detail, the lax pleasure so clear to read in the way his mouth hung open, lips wet and pink. Sidney was certain he could have gotten off like that, fingering Geno and rocking his hips up as he much as he could with 200 pounds of hockey player on his lap.  

“Okay, enough,” Geno said, pulling his fingers out and dislodging Sidney as well. Sidney waited in breathless anticipation as Geno shifted around and rolled a condom onto Sidney’s dick. Geno went up on his knees and rubbed the head of Sidney’s cock along the crease of his ass, rocking his hips back and forth a little to tease at his hole. 

If he kept that up, Sidney was going to come before they even got started. “ _Geno_ ,” he said, and Geno grinned, his tongue sliding along his lower lip, and sank all the way down in one smooth motion. 

“Oh, shit,” Sidney said, and grabbed at Geno’s hips to hold him in place. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a few deep breaths through his nose, a hair’s breadth away from just totally losing it. 

“Feels good?” Geno asked, his voice thick. 

It felt incredible, and Sidney couldn’t bring himself to say it, already feeling laid bare beneath Geno’s half-lidded gaze. He slid his hands around to squeeze at the taut curve of Geno’s ass. “You can move now.” 

“Thanks for permission,” Geno said, and his thighs flexed as he rolled his hips in a long slow grind.  

Sidney couldn’t do much but lie there and try not to come too quickly. Geno was absolutely pornographic in the way he shifted around to find the right angle and then just went for it, bracing himself with his hands on Sidney’s chest and fucking down on Sidney’s cock with complete single-mindedness, pursuing his own pleasure with no thought for what Sidney might want. His selfishness got Sidney even hotter, the type of alpha bullshit that Sidney didn’t want to like but couldn’t get enough of. 

The bond opened up in a sudden rush, and Sidney realized how tightly Geno had been keeping himself closed off only now that he was awash in everything Geno was feeling: intense arousal, sharp smug pleasure at Sidney’s helpless submission, the growing pressure of his orgasm; and beyond all that, underlying everything, a warm affection that Sidney felt himself mirroring back, and he knew he was giving too much away, but he couldn’t think clearly enough to close the bond again, not when Geno was looking at him like that. 

Geno pushed down and went still, crying out. The head of Sidney’s dick was—oh—a perfect hot blunt pressure against Geno’s prostate, hitting him just right, and then Sidney was too deep for that but it was still so good. Geno jerked himself off roughly, sunk to the hilt on Sidney’s cock, and so tight and hot that Sidney was grateful he had stopped moving because otherwise Sidney wouldn’t have been able to hold out. 

Geno flung his head back, panting hard, all of his muscles coiled with tension. Sidney curled his hand around the base of Geno’s cock, stroking his thumb over the sensitive skin that would swell into his knot if Geno was near an omega in heat, and Geno clamped down on Sidney’s dick and came, milking out hot stripes of come onto Sidney’s belly. 

“Jesus,” Sidney breathed. 

Geno grinned, his chest heaving, his hand slowing and stilling. “You like?” 

“You’re amazing,” Sidney said, too sex-drunk to be anything but honest. “You’re so hot, you make me feel incredible,” and Geno took pity on him then and bent down to kiss Sidney and stop the stream of humiliating babble. 

Geno sat up again and smeared his hand down Sidney’s chest, rubbing his come into Sidney’s skin. “Now you smell like me,” he said. 

“I already smell like you,” Sidney said. He rolled his hips, trying to fuck up into the hot clutch of Geno’s ass, and made a high desperate pitiful noise when he couldn’t get enough leverage. 

“Shh, I take care of you,” Geno said. He pulled off and lay down on his back, spreading his legs invitingly, and Sidney rolled on top of him and took himself in one hand and pressed inside, biting his lip at how good it felt. “Yes, come on, give it to me,” Geno said, and reached down to squeeze at Sidney’s ass, and Sidney managed only a few erratic stutters of his hips before he buried his face against Geno’s neck and let loose with a heartfelt moan. 

“Good, very sweet,” Geno murmured, stroking Sidney’s sweaty back, and Sidney felt like he should protest being called “sweet” under any circumstances whatsoever, but the bond was still open and he could feel how sincerely Geno meant it. 

They both got up after a few minutes and went into the washroom to clean up and brush their teeth. Exhaustion was setting in hard. Sidney yawned and leaned into Geno’s side, and Geno put an arm around him and kissed the top of his head, lingering with his face pressed against Sidney’s hair. Sidney’s heart ached in his chest. He was increasingly aware that he had badly miscalculated. Geno cared about him, that was clear, but they had a deal. At the end of it, they would go back to being teammates and nothing more, and Sidney already couldn’t remember why he had thought he would be able to let Geno go. 

\+ + +

They drove to the rink together the next morning after a quick stop at Sidney’s house, Geno leaking contentment through the bond and Sidney unsettled and trying his best to hide it. He wasn’t used to having a lot of feelings about anything other than hockey, which he knew was a little strange, but that was how he liked it. Sidney thought of himself as an even-keeled person, accustomed to going through life without too many emotional ups and downs.

He had a lot of feelings about Geno. 

He talked to the media after practice, the same as usual, but Jen hung out with him the whole time, like she had promised, which wasn’t usual at all. There were more reporters than was typical for a random practice at the start of the season, and it wasn’t any secret why they were there. Jen rode herd on them politely but firmly, and Sidney talked only about the team, practice, line changes, and injuries. He didn’t have to say anything about Geno at all. 

“Want to get lunch?” Flower asked when he was done. “We can go to that sandwich place.” 

“I can’t,” Sidney said. Geno, across the room, was arguing cheerfully with Horny, his sweaty hair all matted down from his helmet. “I gave Geno a ride this morning, so I need to take him home.” 

Flower followed his gaze. “You’re carpooling?” 

“No, I spent the night at his place,” Sidney said. He refused to be embarrassed or lie about what they were doing.  

“Oh,” Flower said. He pursed his mouth and then shrugged. “So take him home and then we’ll get sandwiches.” 

Sidney hesitated. What he really wanted was to go back to his place with Geno and spend the rest of the afternoon in bed. The bond had settled, there was no denying it, and there was a limit to how much longer he would be able to use that as an excuse to spend time with Geno. If he knew it, Geno knew it as well, and would be ready to return to his normal routine. Sidney wanted one final day. 

“Oh, I see,” Flower said. 

“Maybe after practice on Friday,” Sidney said, and scrambled around for an excuse. “I need to hit the grocery store today.” 

“Is that the latest euphemism? I’m so old and out of touch,” Flower said. 

“Guess so,” Sidney said. He didn’t have the attention span for their usual banter. Geno was watching him now, a faint smile on his face. 

“I see I’ve lost you,” Flower said, and clapped Sidney on the shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

“Sure,” Sidney said vaguely. Geno’s smile got a little wider. Sidney did some quick mental calculations. If they both showered at home, they could be at his place in half an hour, even if they stopped on the way to pick up some lunch. Faster, if he let Geno drive; but he wasn’t going to let Geno drive his car. 

Geno made a compelling case for it, though, pressing Sidney up against the driver’s side door in the parking lot, one of his legs riding up between Sidney’s thighs. “You drive like old person,” he said, his mouth on the hinge of Sidney’s jaw, “you know, so slow, make me wait so long.” 

“I drive—I’m—Geno, someone’s going to see,” Sidney said, because they were out there in broad daylight, the middle of the afternoon. 

“So?” Geno said, his mouth moving down Sidney’s neck, zeroing in on the claim mark again. He couldn’t seem to leave it alone. “Everyone knows we bond.” 

“Jen said,” Sidney choked out, knowing it was a misstep even as he said it, because Geno liked nothing better than petulantly ignoring Jen. 

But Geno pulled back and gazed down at Sidney, cupping Sidney’s face in both hands. “Okay. We go. You drive. Not too slow.” 

“I’m going to drive the same way I always do,” Sidney said, exasperated. “Why are we wasting time on this when we could already be on the road?” 

“Yes, okay,” Geno said, and went around to the passenger side of the car. 

Geno won the argument about what they should do for lunch by calling ahead for Thai. “That’s dirty pool,” Sidney said when he realized what Geno was doing. “Come on, G, you know it’s too spicy.” 

Geno pressed his phone against his chest and said, “I tell them only little bit spicy. Now be quiet. It’s noodle, it’s good for you.” 

He was such a dick. His expression said he knew exactly how much Sidney liked being bossed around. 

Sidney forced his eyes back to the road. 

They ate straight from the takeout containers, sitting at Sidney’s breakfast bar with their thighs pressed together. Whatever Geno had ordered for him was admittedly very good, flavorful and barely spicy at all. 

“See, it’s good,” Geno said, dipping his fork in to steal a bite. “I’m take good care of you.” 

“You always do,” Sidney said, way too raw of a response for something Geno had meant as a joke. 

But Geno said, “I try always,” entirely sincere, and Sidney was entirely unprepared to deal with any of this. 

He drew in a breath. “Geno,” he began. 

“Shh, eat noodle,” Geno said. “Don’t think so much, you not smart enough. Hurt your head.” 

“You’re an asshole,” Sidney said, and Geno raised his eyebrows and shoveled some more noodles in his mouth. 

After lunch, Geno dragged Sidney upstairs and into the shower, and then immediately slowed things way, way down. He kissed Sidney beneath the spray with every sign of settling in for the duration, running his hands over Sidney’s back and chest and arms until Sidney’s skin tingled all over. And it was great, kissing Geno was always great, but Sidney didn’t have the patience for Geno’s teasing. 

He slid to his knees. The tile wasn’t too comfortable, but it was worth it for the look on Geno’s face, total shocked incredulity like he had never imagined this. Which was a shame; Sidney had imagined it a lot. 

“Don’t tell me no,” he said, and Geno drew in a shaky breath and slid his hands into Sidney’s wet hair. 

Sidney took it as permission. He licked his lips and wrapped his hand around the base of Geno’s cock. Geno was hard and huge and Sidney had spent a lot of time on the bike recently thinking about what it would be like to have Geno in his mouth, stretching his jaw open the way he liked.  

Geno combed Sidney’s hair away from his face. He was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Sidney tipped his head back so he could keep his eyes on Geno’s face as he leaned in and rubbed the head of Geno’s dick across his lower lip. 

He sucked Geno off slow and wet, letting himself be as messy as he wanted, spit running down his chin and washing away. Geno kept his hands on Sidney’s face the entire time, stroking his eyebrows and cheeks and tracing the stretched line of his lips. He was very polite, flexing his hips minutely but otherwise keeping still and letting Sidney do his thing. 

Geno had the bond locked down tight; Sidney couldn’t read anything through it. He impulsively opened up his end of the bond, and Geno jerked like he’d taken a hit. Sidney wondered what Geno was reading from him to make him react that way. 

“Sid, oh, Sid,” Geno said breathlessly, cupping Sidney’s jaw. “You like this.” 

Sidney pulled off to mouth at the crown of Geno’s dick. “Yeah,” he said, and flickered his tongue out to dip into the slit. “So much.” 

Geno groaned and thrust his hips, bumping his cock against Sidney’s chin and skidding off against his cheek. “Can’t talk like that, you make me come too fast.” 

“Then come,” Sidney said. He guided Geno back to his mouth and took him in deep before pulling off again. “That’s the idea.” 

“Want to enjoy,” Geno said. He gripped Sidney’s hair and used it to tip Sidney’s head back, and rubbed his dick against Sidney’s mouth.  

“I’ll blow you whenever you want,” Sidney said, and flushed to hear how eager he sounded. 

Geno groaned again and pulled Sidney down, and Sidney opened his mouth happily and let Geno stroke the head of his dick along his tongue. Geno’s earlier politeness was gone; he held Sidney’s head in both hands and fucked his cock into Sidney’s mouth, not rough but not entirely careful, either. It made Sidney so hot, and he tried to push that feeling through the bond, to show Geno how much he was enjoying himself. It seemed to work; Geno got louder and more careless, his hands tightening in Sidney’s hair. 

Sidney pulled back, determined to test a hypothesis, and Geno made a protesting sound but let him go. Sidney looked up at him and deliberately licked his lips. He could feel how swollen his mouth was, and he could imagine what he looked like, kneeling at Geno’s feet, wet and probably pink all over by now. He held Geno’s gaze and said, “You should come on my face.” 

“Jesus,” Geno said. 

“I want you to,” Sidney said, and closed his eyes. The bond was still shut off to him, but he didn’t need the bond to tell him how much Geno preferred coming _on_ him to coming _in_ him.  

He waited. Geno said something in Russian that was probably filthy, and then Sidney heard the sound of his hand moving on his dick. Sidney parted his lips, trying to look as inviting as possible. He felt Geno touch his face, fingers lingering at his cheekbone, and then with a sharp inhale Geno let loose all over Sidney’s mouth and cheeks and scrunched-shut eyes. 

Sidney licked his lips, tasting Geno’s bitter come. 

“You’re so good,” Geno said. He moved to let the shower’s spray wash over Sidney’s face, using his fingers to gently clean the come from Sidney’s skin. “Best for me, always.” 

The water was starting to run cold. Geno washed them both with brisk efficiency, lingering only briefly at Sidney’s ass, his fingers stroking over Sidney’s hole. He gave Sidney’s erection a firm squeeze and shut off the water. “Come on, we get in bed now.”  

He arranged Sidney on the bed to his liking—face down, ass up—and then spread Sidney’s cheeks apart and _stared_. Sidney started to feel self-conscious pretty quickly and tried to squirm away, but Geno grabbed his hips and held him in place. 

“I can touch? You like?” Geno asked. 

“I—yeah,” Sidney said, his face burning. “I like it.” 

He was expecting Geno’s fingers, but instead he felt the devastating wet swipe of Geno’s tongue. He cried out, his hips jerking. Geno licked him again with the broad flat of his tongue and Sidney felt like his spine was melting out of his body. 

“Geno, I’m going to make a huge mess,” Sidney warned. 

“Yes, I want,” Geno said, his breath warm against Sidney’s spit-slick hole, and—okay, if that was what Geno wanted, Sidney was positive he could deliver. 

Geno didn’t try anything fancy. He licked across Sidney’s hole again and again, first wetting it with his spit and then, later, cleaning up Sidney’s slick. From time to time he paused and sucked a little on the rim. Sidney’s toes curled from how good it felt, almost too much for him to handle. He was _dripping_ , hypersensitive, a little swollen, and feeling vaguely shocked by the noises Geno kept making, like eating Sidney out was giving him some kind of sexual epiphany. 

He went down on his elbows and got a hand on his dick. He was so turned on that he knew it wouldn’t take much. He worked himself over with the slow, tight grip he preferred, grinding back against Geno’s mouth and forward into his own hand. 

Geno pulled back and stroked his thumb across Sidney’s hole. “You come like this?” 

“Yeah,” Sidney said, his hand still moving, “just—don’t stop—” 

“Taste so good,” Geno said. He went back in, his tongue wet and soft. His hands curled around Sidney’s hips, guiding him into the movement he wanted, riding Geno’s face. Sidney felt his face flush as his orgasm built, a rising pressure that quickly spiraled out of control. He squeezed his eyes shut and trembled as it spilled over and he coated his fingers with come. 

Geno kept licking at him gently until Sidney crawled up the bed away from him, too oversensitive to take any more, and collapsed onto his belly, limp and out of breath. “God, Geno.” 

Geno laughed. “Go again?” 

“No, jeez, I’m old, I can’t—only when I’m in heat,” Sidney said. 

Geno lay down beside him and gave Sidney’s ass a friendly pat. Sidney turned to look at him. Geno’s mouth and chin were shiny with slick, and he looked about as smug as Sidney had ever seen him. 

“Hey,” Sidney said. “You made me feel really good.” He watched Geno’s expression go soft, and he leaned in to kiss the scar on Geno’s cheek, trying hard not to think about what he was doing. It was good for the bond, so it was okay. He kissed Geno again and rolled away. “Let’s clean up and start thinking about dinner.” 

\+ + +

He woke up the next morning in an empty bed, and went downstairs to find Geno in his kitchen, making scrambled eggs and toast. Sidney stood in the doorway and rubbed at his eyes, trying to get his brain booted up. 

“Sid, I make coffee,” Geno said, jerking his chin at the coffee pot. 

Sidney shuffled over and poured himself a cup. “You don’t want to eat at the rink?” 

Geno shrugged. “Food is almost done, we eat and then go.” He stirred the eggs, then reached out with his free hand and reeled Sidney in by the waistband of his boxers and smacked a loud kiss onto Sidney’s temple. “Look so cute in morning, so sleepy, hair fluffy.” 

“I’m not cute,” Sidney said. He closed his eyes and leaned into Geno’s side. The bond was open, and he could feel all of Geno’s steady warm affection, as reassuring as the weight of Geno’s hand on his hip.  

“You smile more now,” Geno said, and gave him another kiss. “Very sad for a while, worried about heats. Now you like regular Sid again. Win two Cups, should be happy all the time.” 

“I’m usually pretty happy,” Sidney said, which he knew wasn’t the response Geno was really looking for, but he couldn’t tell him the truth, which was that he was happy in large part because of Geno. 

He forced himself to pull away. He hopped up on the counter and sipped at his coffee, watching as Geno turned off the burner and plated the eggs. “So,” he said, and took a breath, and said, “I guess the bond has settled by now, eh?” 

“Yes, I think,” Geno said absently, poking at the toaster.  

“So,” Sidney said, and drew in another breath. “We should probably stop doing this. You know, like Jen said. We shouldn’t change our routines, so…” He trailed off. He wanted Geno to say something. “It’s probably time for us to stop hanging out so much.” 

“You have jelly?” Geno asked, and opened the refrigerator. 

“Uh, it’s at the top in the door there,” Sidney said. “Are you listening to me, G? I said—” 

“I hear what you say,” Geno said. He banged the jelly down on the counter. 

“What, are you mad at me now?” Sidney asked. “I’m not saying I don’t—but you know we need to stop. We can’t keep spending the night all the time and going to practice together and all of that.” 

Geno deflated. “Yes, I know. We stop.” He handed Sidney a plate without meeting his eyes. 

“It’s been nice having company,” Sidney said, because someone needed to be brave and it wasn’t going to be Geno, who for all his bravado and posturing was largely a coward. “It isn’t because of you.” 

“Yes,” Geno said again, spreading butter on his toast. He looked up finally, his expression full of some emotion Sidney couldn’t identify. “You take me home before skate, we drive separate.” 

“Okay,” Sidney said. He took a bite of his eggs. They were just how he liked them: not too hard, not too runny, a little bit of black pepper. Perfect. 

They ate in silence. He drove Geno home after. 

“See you at skate,” Geno said, and got out of the car without looking back. 

So that was that. 

\+ + +

The game that night started out slow, but they got some energy in the third and pulled off the win. Geno took a couple dumb penalties and was withdrawn in the dressing room afterward, and leaking irritation through the bond. Sidney had to keep reminding himself that it wasn’t his problem. When Geno got like that, the best thing was to leave him alone.

They hadn’t spoken all day, not since breakfast. 

Some of the younger guys wanted to go out, and Sidney let them talk him into joining them. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do. Geno was gone by the time he got out of the shower; his presence was distant enough that Sidney thought he was probably on the way home. 

He went out and drank a couple of beers, and talked to Sheary about what it was like to go to college, and thought of what he and Geno had done after their game against the Panthers, Geno on top of him and around him, and the noises he made. Surely they could have justified one more night together. 

“—so it’s really all worked out better than I could have hoped,” Sheary said, and Sidney realized he hadn’t been paying an ounce of attention and felt bad about it. He really was interested, just apparently not as interested as he was in Geno’s ass.  

He left the bar a little after midnight and went home to his quiet house. His bed was neatly made and empty. He had stripped the sheets after they had sex the day before; nothing smelled like Geno.  

He woke up pretty early and went downstairs to make coffee. Geno had left the pan from the eggs on the stove to soak. Sidney scrubbed it out. He played some music on his phone so he didn’t have to listen to the silence while he made breakfast. 

It was fine. He didn’t really like living alone, but it was one of the hallmarks of being a successful adult and he was resigned to it. Having Geno around for a few days had reminded him that he enjoyed having other people in the house. That was all. 

His mom called him before he left for the rink. He hadn’t talked to his parents since he told them about Geno and wasn’t sure what to expect. His mom sounded normal, though: cheerful and upbeat as usual. 

“We’d like to come down for a visit soon,” she said, after they talked for a while about the game against the Islanders and Taylor’s travel plans for Christmas. “Just your father and I, since Taylor’s so busy with school. What do you think? Maybe after you get back from your road trip.” 

Sidney hesitated. He was still getting back into the swing of playing, and he didn’t want to create any distractions for himself. Any more than he had already created. But his parents were good about giving him space when they visited; they understood his game-day routines and didn’t interfere. “Sure. I guess so. It would be nice to see you guys.” 

“We’d like a chance to get to know Geno a little better,” his mom said. 

“You—oh, mom,” Sidney groaned. “You know it’s not a real bond.” 

“You bonded with him, so it’s real,” she said firmly. “Even if it’s just for a short time, he’s still—and anyway, he’s helping our baby, and we’re grateful to him.” 

Sidney pressed the heel of his hand into his eye socket. Geno would undoubtedly charm the pants off his parents, and then he would have to deal with his mom’s sugarplum visions of grandchildren. “I don’t spend a lot of time with him. He’s got his own life.” 

“Maybe you could have him over for dinner while we’re there,” his mom said, undeterred. “The four of us can have a chance to talk.” 

“Sure,” Sidney said, because it was easier than fighting about it. “I’ll think about it.” 

“So we’ll book flights, then?” she asked. “If that’s okay.” 

“Yeah, maybe the end of November, early December,” Sidney said, looking at the calendar taped to the side of his refrigerator. “We’ve got a few home games in a row then. Forward me the reservations and I’ll pick you up at the airport.” 

“We’re both really looking forward to seeing you, sweetie,” his mom said, and Sidney couldn’t do anything but smile and say, “Yeah, me too.” 

He drove to the rink about an hour and a half before practice so he could get Curtis to work on his hip and to meet with Dr. Vyas. His hormone levels were up dramatically, but Dr. Vyas didn’t seem concerned. 

“Anne warned me about this,” he said. “It’s very common with newly bonded couples for the omega to experience heat shortly after bonding. Evidently it serves to reinforce the bond.” 

Sidney rubbed his face. “Okay. How soon?” 

“Most likely within the next few days,” Dr. Vyas said. “Geno may be able to give you a more precise estimate.” 

Sidney shifted in his seat. Geno would be more than happy to scent him and report on his impending heat; that was the whole problem. “You think during our road trip, then.” 

“I’m afraid so,” Dr. Vyas said. “I won’t be going on this trip, so I’ll speak with Melissa before you leave. And I’ll alert Mike so that he’ll be prepared to remove you and Geno from the lineup if need be.” 

Right: if he went into heat, Geno would be expected to help him through it. Sidney mainly felt distressed about potentially missing a game, but a small part of him was selfishly thrilled at the thought of having Geno like that again. 

“Don’t take this as a sign that the suppressants aren’t working,” Dr. Vyas continued. “I believe they are, based on your hormone levels over the past few days.” 

“It’s not as urgent now,” Sidney said. “I can be patient as long as I’m playing.” If he had to miss a game every now and then, it was better than the alternative. 

Dr. Vyas smiled at him. “I think that’s a healthy attitude to take. Good luck in Philadelphia tomorrow, and I’ll see you once you’re back from the West Coast.”

\+ + +

Geno ignored him all through practice, sticking to the opposite end of the ice with such dedication that it was obvious he was trying to make a statement. Sidney didn’t even know what Geno was angry about. 

That wasn’t true. He knew exactly what Geno was angry about, he just didn’t know how it was his fault. 

Geno had the bond opened wide and was shoving his indifference through it: _look how much I don’t care_. Sidney didn’t understand how Geno had such good control over the bond when Sidney felt like he didn’t have any control at all. He didn’t have any idea what he was transmitting and he could only turn it off or open it up if he focused on it to the exclusion of everything else. The instant he started doing or thinking about something else, he lost it. 

So there was no way he could give Geno as good as he got during practice, when he had to pay attention to what was happening on the ice, but he had zero hesitation about lying in wait for Geno after practice, grabbing the front of his jersey, and keeping him there while everyone else trailed past them to the locker room. 

“You break it, you buy it,” Bones said, and Sidney rolled his eyes. That didn’t even make sense. 

“Sid, I need shower,” Geno said, scowling, once they were alone, but he wasn’t making any attempt to break free. 

“You’ll have time,” Sidney said. “This won’t take long.” 

Geno sighed heavily, like Sidney was completely unreasonable and impossible to deal with. “Look, I’m just stay away, like you ask.” 

“You’re acting ridiculous,” Sidney said. “I didn’t tell you to stay away, I just said we have to stop spending the night, which you _know_ we do. I don’t know why you’re punishing me for it now. I promised everyone that bonding wouldn’t interfere with the team, and if you’re going to ignore me like that in practice, it means that I lied.” 

Geno looked contrite. “Sorry, Sid. I don’t mean to—to punish. I like it, spend time with you, and then I think…” He trailed off and reached out to touch Sidney’s cheek. Sidney held his breath, half hoping and half fearing Geno was about to say something he couldn’t take back. But Geno only shook his head ruefully and said, “Sorry I’m big jerk.” 

It was far more of an apology than anyone was usually able to get out of Geno, and certainly more than Sidney had expected. He glanced around to make sure nobody was in sight and then leaned his head against Geno’s shoulder for just a moment, breathing in the smell of him, admittedly pretty ripe after practice.  

He felt Geno tap at the back of his helmet. “Smell like you go into heat soon.” 

“Oh, right,” Sidney said, pulling back. “I wanted to mention that to you. Dr. Vyas said probably while we’re on the road trip. I know it’s inconvenient, so—” 

“Stop,” Geno said, sounding annoyed. “Don’t apologize, don’t say how such inconvenience, oh Zhenya, so sorry you have to fuck me, sorry I smell so good, make such nice sounds, face so pink—” 

“ _Geno_ ,” Sidney said, embarrassed.  

Geno grinned at him, totally unrepentant. “You get so pink after skate, face so—” He gestured at Sidney’s cheeks. “Just like during sex. So now, every game, every practice, I look at you and think about you fucking me.” 

Sidney refused to get turned on when he was still wearing all of his gear. “I’m going to take a shower,” he said firmly, and marched off down the hallway hearing Geno laughing behind him.

\+ + +

He scored two early goals against the Flyers, and Geno scored two as well, including the game-winner in the third. Geno was a shark all night, lurking around by the net waiting for his chance to strike. Sidney didn’t bother pretending it didn’t get him hot. When Geno was on, he was on, and no one else in the league could even come close.

Geno’s game-winner was his 300th career goal, and during the post-game press scrum, the press mostly wanted to talk to Sidney about that, and about his own five points in his first three games of the season. The one reporter who asked a question about babies was summarily ejected by Jen, and everyone behaved after that. Sidney was starting to believe, very tentatively, that he and Geno were going to get away with it. 

There was no time to celebrate. They had an early flight to California in the morning. Sidney slept on the plane as much as he could, but he woke up somewhere over Arkansas and couldn’t get back to sleep. It was mid-morning. He had a cup of coffee and watched some game tape, Flower snoring quietly beside him. He was aware of Geno making the rounds at the back of the plane, probably trying to get a card game going, but Geno didn’t come up to talk to him, even after Sidney popped his head up to scope things out and they made eye contact. 

It was fine. They didn’t have any reason to talk to each other.  

Jen came back after lunch was served and kicked Flower out so she could talk to Sidney about a photo shoot he had coming up. When they were done, she tucked her papers bag in her bag and gave Sidney a considering look. “You and Geno seem to be keeping it together well.”  

“Uh, thanks,” Sidney said. 

“I mean that nobody has taken pictures of you making out with him in public yet,” she said. “Good job.” 

“I’m not really a making out in public kind of guy,” Sidney said.  

She smiled at him. “I’m teasing, Sidney. There’s been a lot of speculation, but so far everyone is mostly accepting the official story. That’s due in part to how you and Geno are behaving in public.” 

“The official story is true,” Sidney said. “We aren’t lying about not being in a relationship.” 

“Sidney! I’m not accusing you of anything.” She gave him a narrow look. “Are you sure there isn’t anything I need to know?” 

“I’m sure,” Sidney said firmly. 

“Okay, well. Don’t Google yourself,” she said. 

“I never do,” Sidney said. He had learned early on that reading his own press provided no benefits and only served to make him crazy. He could easily imagine what people were saying about him and Geno and he had no interest whatsoever in subjecting himself to that. 

Jen stood to leave. “That’s why you’re my favorite,” she said, and winked at him. 

Flower had been sucked into a conversation with Cullen and didn’t look like he would be returning any time soon. Sidney pressed his face against the window and looked down at the earth passing below. Somewhere behind him, Geno laughed. Sidney didn’t fully understand what was happening inside of him, but it felt seismic. He wouldn’t get through this unchanged. 

As a boy, and even up until the year before he left for Shattuck, Sidney had prayed every night to wake up a beta. Even before he was too young to understand what being an omega meant, he knew it was a burden and that it might ruin all of his hopes. Later, in adulthood, he tried to find some joy in it and never could. He had never asked to be an omega; there was no upside there, only trouble and suffering, other boys yelling slurs at him on the ice, everyone always waiting for him to fail. But now, for the first time, he was glad of it: it meant he got to have Geno, at least for a little while.

\+ + +

He started going into heat during practice that afternoon. He recognized the signs by now, both in the way he felt and the way Geno started circling a little, repeatedly abandoning whatever he was doing to skate over and stand too close.

“Geno wants to be on your line,” Sheary said after the third time Geno did it. 

“Oh, is he going to be my new winger?” Sidney said. “I don’t know if he has what it takes.” 

“Geno wants to be on Sid’s _power play_ , if you know what I mean,” Horny said. 

Geno shoved at Horny’s shoulder. “I’m already on same power play unit, Horny. Shut up.” 

“Go back to your own line,” Horny said. “Kuni misses you.” 

“Sorry,” Sidney said quietly, after Geno cursed cheerfully at Horny in Russian and skated off. “I’ll talk to him if he keeps interrupting.” 

Sheary looked like he wanted to be supportive but wasn’t sure what to say. Horny patted Sidney on the back and said, “Don’t worry about it, Sid. We’re all happy you can play. If Geno is weird sometimes, that’s okay. He’s weird a lot of the time.” 

“I hear you, Patric! Don’t make me fine you!” Geno called. 

“Can he really fine you for that?” Sheary asked. 

“Tell me if he does, and I’ll deal with it,” Sidney said absently. Geno already looked like he was thinking about coming over again, and Sidney’s knees were feeling a little wobbly. It was probably time to throw in the towel. 

He dropped a quiet word to Sullivan and headed back to the locker room to change and shower. He wanted to go to the hotel, but they had taken a bus to the arena directly from the airport, and he didn’t have a room key yet. He found the empty players’ lounge and curled up on one of the couches to wait. His feet were cold. He went back into the locker room to get another pair of socks, and then he was overheated and stripped off the sweatshirt he’d put on. 

He couldn’t get comfortable. He turned onto his back, then onto his side again. His skin itched all over. 

“Hey, Sid,” someone said, and Sidney turned to see Tanger in the doorway, holding his helmet in one hand. “You doing okay?” 

Sidney’s tongue felt too big for his mouth. “I need to go to the hotel,” he said. 

“Okay,” Tanger said. “I’ll go get Jen. Do you need anything right now? Some water?” 

Sidney shook his head. He needed to be lying down, and he needed Geno. “Thanks, Tanger.” 

Tanger left. Sidney curled in on himself. He was starting to shiver. The heat was coming on hard, more intense than it had been since that first time. He could feel Geno somewhere in the building, too far away; he needed Geno right there with him, his hands on Sidney’s skin. He focused on reaching out through the bond, but he couldn’t feel anything. Geno was shutting him out. 

“Sidney,” a woman said, and Sidney opened his eyes, and turned over. It was Jen. “I’m going to drive you to the hotel, okay? Can you get up?” 

“Yeah,” Sidney said. He sat up, flushing when he realized how obvious his erection was through his track pants. “Um…” 

Jen, bless her, didn’t even blink. “Why don’t you tie your sweatshirt around your waist? That might make you more comfortable.” 

Her matter-of-fact kindness made him want to weep. He was a mess; his emotions were all over the place. He did as she suggested, and she came over and helped him off the couch, and they went out to the parking lot. Sidney maybe leaned on Jen’s arm a little, but he could mostly walk under his own power, and that made him feel a little better, that he wasn’t entirely helpless. 

“Sorry about this,” he said. “I know it isn’t really in your job description.” 

Jen didn’t respond at first. “You know,” she said at last, “everyone in the organization really admires you for how you’ve dealt with this. It’s a challenging situation, and it’s required you to be far more open about your personal life than I know you prefer. But you’ve handled it all with grace and good humor. I was out on the bench when Kris came to find me, and every single one of your teammates came over to ask me to pass along their best wishes. They know this is difficult and embarrassing for you, and they respect you so much for fighting through it and refusing to give up.” 

Sidney blinked back hot tears. He was so hormonal he could barely see straight. “I don’t know what to say,” he choked out. 

“Aw, Sidney,” she said. “Come on, let’s get you to the car.” 

He shivered and sweated through the ride to the hotel, his head pressed against the window and his eyes closed. He waited in the car while Jen went inside to check in. She came back with a room key and hustled him to the side entrance in record time. “I forgot to get your bag from the arena,” she told him as they rode up in the service elevator. “I’m sorry about that. It shouldn’t be more than an hour before the bus is here.” 

“Geno can bring it up to me,” Sidney said. “My bag.” 

Jen’s mouth twitched into a frown. “You need to be really careful that nobody catches the two of you in the same hotel room.” 

“Tell Geno,” Sidney said. “I can’t—I don’t know if I can be careful right now.” 

“Okay,” she said gently. “I’ll let him know.”  

The hotel room looked like every other hotel room. Sidney stumbled over to the bed and collapsed onto the mattress. “Give Geno my room key,” he said. “And tell him to bring my bag. And to be careful.” 

“I’ll tell him,” Jen said. “Do you need anything? Or do you just need to be alone?” 

“Alone,” Sidney said, and then, “Thank you, Jen, I—thanks.” 

“You’re welcome,” she said. “I’ll see you on the flip side.” 

Sidney had his hand on his dick the moment the door clicked shut behind her.

\+ + +

He was three orgasms in by the time he heard someone at the door. He knew it was Geno; he could smell him even from the hallway, and he kicked his pants onto the floor and rolled over onto his belly, so that Geno could come in and fuck him right away, put his—

“Sid,” Geno said, and Sidney heard two bags hitting the floor, thump-thump. The air filled with the scent of Geno’s arousal. “Look at you.” 

Sidney buried his hot face in the pillow. “Please fuck me, I’ve been waiting so long.” 

He heard cloth rustling. “Sorry I’m make you wait, Jen say we can’t both leave practice early, have to—” 

“I know,” Sidney interrupted, “it’s okay, but if you don’t fuck me right now I’m going to find someone who will.” He was burning up, he was so ready for it; he felt like he had been waiting for a million years.  

Geno had the audacity to laugh. “You don’t want someone else, only me.” 

It was true, but Geno wasn’t supposed to know that. Sidney craned his neck around to look. Geno was standing at the foot of the bed, shirt in his hands, face flushed, cock fat in his basketball shorts. He looked pinched around the eyes, a little desperate. Sidney’s hole clenched on nothing, painfully empty. Geno clasped Sidney’s ankle and said, “We don’t have to do if you don’t want. I blow you, or—” 

“I told you I like it when I’m in heat,” Sidney said, rapidly growing impatient with Geno’s dithering, “and I’m in heat now, so you had better hurry up.” 

“Okay,” Geno said, “okay,” and he went to get a condom out of his bag. 

Sidney drew his knees up and squirmed his way to the foot of the bed. The head of his dick traced a sticky pattern on his abdomen as he shifted. Geno was probably a little too tall for this position, but they could make it work. Sidney had thought so much about their last heat sex, way more than he probably should have, and now they were bonded and Geno was leaking eager anticipation and also a little bit of nervousness, which made Sidney’s chest feel tight. He wanted everything. 

He heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper. “You don’t need to prep me at all,” he said. “I’ve been—I was using my fingers, so I’m ready right now.”  

Geno cursed long and loud. Sidney hid his smile against the bedspread and waited. He felt Geno’s hands at his hips, tugging him backwards another inch, and the head of Geno’s dick pushing against his hole. “This bed too short,” Geno muttered, but that didn’t stop him; he held Sidney open with one hand and shoved his way in. 

Sidney dragged in a long raw breath, his spine arching. Geno filled him up in one smooth thrust and Sidney’s hole flexed helplessly around him, adjusting to the hot thick stretch of him. 

Geno’s lips brushed a careful kiss against his back. 

The bond snapped open in a sudden, searing burst, burning Sidney all the way down to bare earth. He could feel everything, Geno’s delight in Sidney’s body, a kind of confused awe that he got to touch Sidney like this, a lingering anxiety about Sidney suffering alone in the hotel room, and the same strong careful affection Sidney had felt from him before, as comforting now as Geno’s familiar scent. He felt battered by the force of Geno’s emotions and tried to close off his end of the bond, but he couldn’t manage it; he was doubly pinned, caught there between the bond and Geno’s cock. 

Geno was moving in him rough and fast, giving it to him as hard as he wanted, maybe reading Sidney’s desires through the bond. Sidney squeezed his eyes shut, his face flushing, the familiar tension building in his belly. He wasn’t going to last, but there was no reason to hold out. They had as much time as they needed.

“Yes, come now,” Geno said, his hands firm on Sidney’s hips, pulling Sidney back onto his dick, and Sidney went tight and bit his lip and felt his orgasm sizzle through him. 

Geno pulled out immediately, so fast that Sidney’s clenching hole caught at the head of his cock on the way out. Sidney yelped, and Geno patted his hip and said, “Sorry, sorry. Up, get on back.” 

Sidney stayed where he was, panting, trying to coordinate his rubbery limbs. The light turned on in the washroom, and then he heard the tap running. His dick slowly went soft, but he knew he would be hard again soon enough. Geno started whistling something that Sidney belatedly recognized as Justin Timberlake. Geno was happy, pleased with himself, exceedingly—Sidney flushed—pleased with Sidney, still strongly aroused, and— 

“Stop touching yourself and get back here and knot me,” Sidney called out. 

“You cheat,” Geno said from the doorway to the washroom. He had stripped off the condom for whatever reason and had a fresh one in his hand. “I told you get on your back.” 

“I can’t move,” Sidney said, and slowly crawled up the bed to collapse on the pillows. He rolled onto his side and smiled at Geno. “I could move a little.” 

“Very cute,” Geno said, his eyes soft. The bond pulsed between them, warm and steady. Geno came over and stripped off the come-stained bedspread and dumped it on the floor. Sidney managed to flop over onto his back and held out his arms, and Geno climbed on the bed and covered Sidney with his long warm body and claimed Sidney’s mouth in a kiss. 

Geno kissed him until Sidney was hard again, and then kept kissing him until Sidney squirmed and clawed at his shoulders and finally turned his head away to say, sharply, “Geno!” 

Geno kissed him once more, and kissed down his neck and said, “You ready?” 

“ _Yes_ ,” Sidney said. He grabbed a pillow at random and tried to wedge it beneath his hips, but Geno was too heavy and wouldn’t give him enough room. “Geno,” he complained, and Geno laughed and rolled off to one side and let Sidney get himself situated. Geno ran a hand down Sidney’s chest, looking immensely fond, and bent his head to bite gently at Sidney’s nipple, making him cry out. 

“Okay, we do now,” Geno said. He slapped around on the sheets until he found the condom, and Sidney chewed on his lip as he watched Geno roll the condom onto his dick. That would be inside him soon, and he was going to come like a firecracker. 

Geno got a hand beneath Sidney’s knee and pressed it up toward his chin, making room for himself between Sidney’s thighs, and then he was working himself inside, one agonizing inch at a time, each careful roll of his hips sliding his cock a little deeper. 

“Oh,” Sidney said, when Geno was fully seated, his balls pressed against Sidney’s ass. He felt so _full_ , and completely surrounded by Geno, the warmth and smell of Geno’s body and the powerful swell of Geno’s emotions, more complicated than Sidney could sort through in his current state. He clutched at Geno’s back and met his gaze, soft and brown and heavy-lidded, and gazing right back at Sidney like he could see straight into Sidney’s bones. 

Geno bent to kiss him, a slow and filthy slide of tongue, and then he began to move. 

He had been rough earlier, but now he fucked Sidney with infinite care, ignoring all of Sidney’s pleaded attempts to get him to go faster. He braced himself on his elbows and touched Sidney’s hair, his face, bent to kiss at Sidney’s flushed cheeks and panting mouth. Sidney was overwhelmed by the attention, half-convinced he was dreaming, because Geno had never once looked at him like this in real life, only in Sidney’s (years of) furtive, desperate fantasies.

“Sid, Sidney,” Geno murmured, impossibly tender, and Sidney couldn’t deny that he was, horribly, awake.

Despite Geno’s infuriatingly slow pace, Sidney was in heat and could get off on essentially nothing. The angle was just right for Geno to nail his prostate on every grinding stroke in, and between that and Geno’s lavish kisses, Sidney quickly felt himself losing control. He wrapped his arms around Geno’s neck and pulled him down to lie on Sidney with his full weight, and then Sidney could grind up to rub his cock against Geno’s belly. 

“Feels good?” Geno asked him. His face was pushed up against Sidney’s neck, and each word brushed his lips against Sidney’s skin. “You want my hand?”

“No, no, stay just like this,” Sidney said, riding the hot edge of orgasm, seconds away from coming on Geno’s dick. He wanted Geno to bite him, but he knew they couldn’t leave any marks, but maybe Geno could bite him somewhere nobody would see, his hip or his inner thigh—

“Sid!” Geno cried out, and shuddered above him, and then his knot began to swell.

Sidney dug his heels into Geno’s ass and worked his hips on Geno’s knot and came in an ecstatic rush. He knew he was being noisy and didn’t care. Let everyone hear how good Geno made him feel.

Geno groaned a few times, deliberately dramatic, and Sidney hid his smile against Geno’s shoulder. “Sid, so good, ass so tight, so wet, most beautiful hockey player in Eastern Conference—”

“What about the Western Conference?” Sidney asked. “There’s someone you’ve got your eye on?”

“Western Conference, too,” Geno said. “Most beautiful always, best, most favorite,” and Sidney was glad that Geno couldn’t see his face, absolutely certain that his expression was one of dopey infatuation, impossible to mistake for anything else.

They stayed like that until Sidney’s hips started protesting the position, and then Geno tipped them over onto their sides, which relieved some of the pressure but still wasn’t particularly comfortable. “We didn’t think this through,” Sidney said, and Geno laughed and said, “I make knot go down extra fast, just for you.”

As intimate as the sex had been, it was even worse to lie there tied together and watch Geno watch him. Sidney wanted to turn his face away or go hide in the washroom, but there was no escaping the fond intensity of Geno’s gaze. Geno murmured sweet nothings to him in Russian and pressed wet kisses along the side of Sidney’s neck, and Sidney couldn’t do anything but cling to Geno and feel his heart get mashed into a formless pulp.

\+ + +

They screwed until the sky outside grew dark and Geno got up to close the curtains. Geno had knotted him a second time and then claimed old age and exhaustion and made Sidney fuck him until he was hard again. “Omega smell is not magic,” Geno said, but he did manage to knot Sidney a third time after that, so Sidney figured it was pretty close.

“I’m hungry,” Sidney said, when Geno didn’t come back to bed immediately. He was covered in come and sweat, and he had leaked slick all over the sheets and all down his thighs. He felt fantastic.

“We order food,” Geno said. “Probably not room service, maybe someone sees.”

“Call Flower,” Sidney said. “He’ll complain, but he’ll do it. Wait, what do you want to eat?”

“Sushi,” Geno said predictably. He fished his phone out of his discarded shorts and started tapping at the screen. 

“We need carbs,” Sidney said. “To refuel.”

“Okay, we get roll kind, has rice,” Geno said, and Sidney decided to just go with it, because Geno was obviously fixated. “You want beer?” Sidney waffled for a moment, but actually a beer sounded really nice, and Geno must have read it off him because he said, “Yes, we get Kirin, very light, very—what is word?” He smacked his lips together and said, “Ahhh.”

Sidney grinned. “Refreshing?” 

“Yes, refreshing,” Geno said. “Okay, I call Flower.”

Sidney lay sprawled on the bed while Geno bullied Flower into serving as their delivery boy, sort of floating in a sex-induced haze. He was loose and satisfied and feeling pretty out of it, aware he wasn’t thinking clearly but deliriously happy anyway, safe and warm and shut away with Geno. The bond was still open and he could feel Geno’s contentment and pleasure matching his own.

Geno got off the phone and ran a hot, lingering look over Sidney’s body. Sidney stretched with his arms over his head, his back arching. “Come back to bed.”

By the time Flower knocked on the door, Geno had his tongue in Sidney’s mouth and two fingers up Sidney’s ass. “Shit,” Geno said, pulling away at once. He looked down at his wet fingers and Sidney started laughing, couldn’t stop as Geno wiped his hand on the sheets and scrambled off the bed to pull on his shorts. Sidney tugged a corner of the sheet over his hips for modesty’s sake, although Flower knew very well what they were doing.

Geno went to answer the door, and Sidney heard Flower say, “Here’s your food, congratulations on the sex, see you tomorrow, goodbye.”

“Thanks, Flower!” Sidney called.

“We scare him,” Geno announced, kicking the door shut with his foot. “Trauma.”

“Flower will live,” Sidney said. “Did you get the avocado kind?”

Geno rolled his eyes, and the bond told Sidney how happy he was, how much he enjoyed spending time with Sidney, talking about sushi rolls. The knowledge was devastating and Sidney couldn’t even begin to process it, heat-stupid as he was.

They ate, and Sidney drank half of his beer, and then Geno pinned Sidney to the mattress and blew him, slow and sloppy. Sidney combed his fingers through Geno’s hair and wallowed in the emotions Geno was transmitting through the bond. He couldn’t have this, but he could pretend for now, as long as Geno would let him.

His heat burned out at last in the early hours of the morning. He was lazily riding Geno’s fingers, only half-hard, and felt the heat drain out of him like water emptying from a basin.

“Good job,” Geno mumbled, and passed out immediately.

Sidney lay in bed for a while, but he couldn’t sleep, filled with that strange post-heat energy. He finally got out of bed and went into the washroom, not wanting to disturb Geno, and sat on the closed lid of the toilet. He was sore and sticky and his mind wouldn’t quit working.

He understood now what Tanger had meant about bonding not being casual, why Tanger had tried to warn him. Sidney had thought he was the one who would get hurt, and he was okay with that, but he wasn’t okay with hurting Geno. And he couldn’t deny that Geno probably would get hurt, that Geno was invested, that Geno had—that Geno probably had feelings for him. He didn’t know when it had happened, or how, but he couldn’t pretend that Geno’s slow kisses and intense eye contact were anything other than exactly what they seemed.

He permitted himself a few moments to imagine a relationship with Geno. He knew what Geno was like with the people he dated, protective and proprietary, and it wasn’t much of a stretch to imagine Geno with _him_ , dating him. He thought of Geno guiding him around with a hand at his lower back, kissing him in public with no thought for who might see, showing up at his house with flowers for no reason. They would go on tropical vacations and get photographed in somewhat compromising positions. Eventually they would get married, maybe at Sidney’s summer house in Nova Scotia, and then—children—

No. That was enough.

He remembered Dr. Calloway talking about the things she had sacrificed, and at the time he had thought he knew what she meant. When he entered the draft, he knew he was making a choice between hockey and a personal life, and the decision had been more difficult than he let anyone know. But he made the decision, and made peace with it. He hadn’t dated at all in the years since. The closest he came was fucking a guy regularly for a few months and maybe making him breakfast a couple times. Everyone had to make compromises, he had told himself. No one got everything they wanted. But he understood the true nature of his sacrifice now.

\+ + +

Heart-wrenching midnight revelations aside, Sidney was innately even-tempered and rational, and things didn’t seem so dire in the morning when he woke up with Geno snoring gently beside him, arms flung above his head. Geno was an emotional person who felt things strongly and deeply, but he was also resilient. Sidney had watched him bounce back from the wreckage of multiple serious relationships, and he couldn’t imagine that a few weeks with Sidney would leave more than a bruise, easily healed.

Still, it was clear he would need to step things back, for both their sakes. 

So instead of doing what he really wanted, which was to press himself against the warm bulk of Geno’s body and wait until he woke up, and then see if he could tempt Geno into a round of sleepy, lazy morning sex, he got up and went to take a shower. He felt pretty good, a little sore but no worse than after a hard workout.

Geno was awake by the time he came out of the washroom with a towel wrapped around his hips, sitting up and blinking groggily. “What time is it?” The bond was closed off again, and Sidney told himself it was just as well.

“It’s close to ten,” Sidney said. “I guess we slept in.”

“You wear me out,” Geno grumbled, but he was smiling. “Come back to bed, it’s day off.”

Sidney wanted to, so much, and in a moment of shameful weakness, he dropped his towel and climbed back into the rumpled mess of sheets and let Geno tuck him in against his side. “We have to get up soon,” he said, telling himself more than Geno. “I’m really hungry.”

Geno dropped a kiss to the top of Sidney’s head. “We go out for breakfast.”

“You know we can’t,” Sidney said regretfully.

“I know,” Geno said. He smelled pretty ripe, but still so good, and Sidney turned his head and pressed a kiss against Geno’s neck. “We have Flower bring us bagels.”

“He wouldn’t,” Sidney said. “We’re not supposed to eat bagels, anyway.”

“He bring us if I say you’re still in heat,” Geno said with a wicked gleam in his eyes, and thirty minutes later they had coffee and bagel sandwiches with eggs and bacon, and Sidney felt guilty about lying to Flower but not guilty enough to turn down food.

They ate sprawled on the bed, probably dropping crumbs everywhere, but the bed was already a lost cause. Sidney started thinking about the game the next night, and how much they needed to worry about the Ducks’ blue line. Fowler was a menace, but they could probably—

“Sid,” Geno said, interrupting his thoughts. “Can I ask question?”

“Uh, sure,” Sidney said, and turned on his side to face Geno. “What’s up?”

Geno was fiddling with the plastic lid of his coffee cup, avoiding Sidney’s gaze. “First time we have sex, after Cup.”

Sidney’s pulse kicked into overdrive. “Um, what about it?”

Geno glanced at him and then away. “Did you like?”

That was not at all what Sidney had been expecting him to say, and he took a moment to collect his thoughts before responding. “Yeah, I liked it a lot. It was fun and—and sexy, and you were really good to me.”

“When I’m wake up in morning, you’re gone,” Geno said. “And we drink a lot, so I think—maybe you don’t like.”

“Oh, God,” Sidney said, and covered his face with one hand, because it was still a little embarrassing, even after all this time. “No, I just—felt stupid about spending the night with you. I was trying to play it cool. I had a huge crush on you, and I didn’t want you to know. Anyway, if you were worried, why didn’t you say something to me back then?”

“You never say,” Geno said. “We never talk about it. You pretend it never happen, okay, I pretend same, we never talk.”

“I was embarrassed,” Sidney said, remembering how strange and awkward he had been at twenty-one, totally infatuated with Geno and clueless about how to deal with it. “I was—I _liked_ you, and I was a dumb—I was a really weird kid, Geno. I know I’m still weird now, but a little less weird, I think. But back then I was really fucking weird. I don’t think I was really socialized properly.” 

Geno gave him a blank look. 

“You know, like with kittens,” Sidney said. “If they aren’t handled a lot when they’re very young, they’re always kind of feral.” Then he realized he had just compared himself to a feral cat and made a face. 

But Geno was grinning. “No school, no friends, only hockey.”

“Come on, you know that's not true,” Sidney said. He reached out and took Geno’s coffee cup out of his hands and set it on the nightstand, and then he brought Geno’s hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the center of his palm, knowing he was really pushing the envelope and not caring. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I liked it a lot, and we should have talked about it back then, but I guess it’s good we’re talking about it now.”

“You have crush on me?” Geno asked.

“Of course I did, you were so—” And then he broke off, seeing the smug look on Geno’s face, and knew he would be giving Geno indescribable amounts of ammunition if he finished that sentence. “Oh, fuck off, I’m never talking about this with you again.” 

“Sid,” Geno said, his expression serious again. “I’m have crush, too. Sidney Crosby, best at hockey, and nice to me when I don’t speak English, help me always, so handsome.” He touched Sidney’s cheek. “Sid, I—”

Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by someone banging on their door. “Sid?” Sidney groaned; it was Flower. “Sid, Tanger told me you aren’t in heat anymore, you rat bastard!”

\+ + +

He cleared out of the room in the afternoon so housekeeping could come through and hopefully burn the sheets. He left a big tip to assuage his guilt.

Some of the guys, including Geno, were planning a beach trip, but Sidney headed in the opposite direction. He rented a car and drove up into the hills. He wasn’t much of a hiker, but he had read about a short hike, not too strenuous and with good views, and he felt like he could use some fresh air and perspective to clear his head.

He parked at the trailhead and followed the blazes uphill. It was a Monday, and only a few other people were out: a woman trail-running with a friendly Lab, an older couple with hiking poles.

The trail ended at the peak, and from there he could see down into the canyon and beyond it to the L.A. sprawl, and the ocean far in the distance, nothing more than a glint of light on the water. A bird cried from the bushes. He felt very small compared to the vast scope of the landscape, and his problems with Geno seemed like they weren’t really problems at all. He was twenty-nine, and he had devoted his entire life to hockey. Maybe it was okay for him to be a little selfish for a while.

He went back to the hotel and took out his laptop, and typed _Sidney Crosby bond_ into the browser’s search bar, and then cringed to see the number of results. He clenched his jaw and clicked on the first link.

The story had been picked up by a lot of conservative talk shows. Sidney watched a clip of a woman in a red suit talking about how Sidney was undermining traditional family values. “Now, I’m not saying that omegas shouldn’t work outside the home,” she said, “and it’s certainly good for young, unbonded omegas to travel and work and have those sorts of life experiences. But for someone who’s a leader in his field, a role model, someone young kids look up to, for him to bond with someone he has no intention of marrying—well, I don’t see why anyone is okay with that.”

He clicked to the next clip, an angry man with a goatee. “This guy, the alpha, what’s his name, Malkin, he’s really the one to blame here. Omegas are so flighty, they operate based on emotion, not logic. I’m sure it was easy for Malkin to convince Crosby to go along with it. Really predatory behavior, and I can’t believe the Penguins didn’t step in while this was going on. They need to trade Malkin away and break the bond.”

There was a petition, started by a fan, demanding that Sidney retire immediately for his own benefit. It had 30,000 signatures.

He didn’t bother with the hockey blogs, after that. He was capable of filling in the blanks.

He lay on the bed for a while, staring blindly at the ceiling. He didn’t so much care what anyone said about him, really. He’d heard most of it before, and people’s outrage was mostly impotent. He hated that his personal life was being discussed on a national stage, but he had expected that and accepted it as inevitable before he ever talked to Dr. Calloway about the bond. 

What he couldn’t tolerate was anyone talking about Geno like that. It was okay for Sidney to maybe be a little selfish, but he couldn’t justify the magnitude of selfishness it would require for him to start a relationship with Geno knowing what that would mean for every other aspect of Geno’s life. Geno had made it clear through a decade of actions and words that he was happy to let Sidney take the spotlight, and it would be cruel to ask Geno to step forward now and stand with him in that harsh glow. Sidney wouldn’t do it.

\+ + +

He hid in his hotel room for the rest of the afternoon and evening, watching game tape. Geno came by around dinner time—Sidney could smell him—and tapped on the door, but when Sidney didn’t respond, he went away again.

It was for the best.

The rest of the team, probably assuming he was still recovering from his heat, left him alone. Sidney ordered room service and passed out early.

When he went downstairs the next morning for team breakfast, he got a little bit of chirping about his heat but not nearly the quantity or caliber he expected. “I guess we got out it of our systems yesterday with Geno,” Cole said, shrugging and passing Sidney the salt.

“Lucky Geno,” Sidney said dryly, and across the room Geno turned to look at him like he had heard Sidney say his name.

They went to the arena after breakfast for some meetings and practice. Sidney was deliberately one of the last to board the bus, and he settled down in a window seat near the front and tried to look unwelcoming.

It didn’t work. Geno plopped down in the seat beside him. “Sid, something’s wrong?”

“No,” Sidney said. “We never sit together at breakfast. We never sit together on the bus. I’m being normal.” 

“I come by your room yesterday,” Geno said. “You pretend you aren’t there.”

“Oh—did you? I was watching game tape and I had my headphones on,” Sidney lied. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Hmm,” Geno said, looking deeply skeptical. “Is about heat? Is about Cup?”

“Can we please _not talk about this here_ ,” Sidney said, trying to push through the bond how much he didn’t want to have this conversation, ideally ever, but certainly not on the bus where someone well-meaning would undoubtedly eavesdrop and bother him about it later.

Geno broadcasted a thin stream of understanding and apology, and Sidney sat back in his seat, hit hard by the implications of their wordless exchange, so easy and intimate, and he felt so—so—

Geno’s face permutated through three or four different expressions too quickly for Sidney to decipher them. Geno had his jacket crumpled up on his lap, and he lifted it and draped it over both of their heads like a tent, making a quiet dim space for them. Sidney instinctively leaned in closer, and Geno raised his hand to cup Sidney’s jaw and brought their mouths together in a sweet, soft kiss that nonetheless shook Sidney deeply.

“Sid,” Geno murmured, and kissed him again, slower and with more tongue, and Sidney wanted nothing more than to stay there forever, hidden away from the world. But Geno drew back and removed the jacket, and Sidney had to turn away from the soft look on Geno’s face before he did something irrevocable, like beg Geno to stay with him always.

“We have to stop,” he said quietly. “We’re supposed to be acting normal, and I can’t act normal when you’re like this.”

“Me?” Geno asked, frowning. “I’m like what?”

“You flirt with me,” Sidney said. “You act so—” He made a vague gesture, trying to encompass all of Geno’s looks and casual touches and the _kissing_.

“Oh, I’m problem?” Geno said, and Sidney winced as Geno’s voice got louder. People were definitely going to start eavesdropping. “All my fault, when you look at me all the time, want so much for me to kiss.”

“I don’t look at you all the time,” Sidney said, because he couldn’t deny that he wanted Geno to kiss him basically every second of his life.

“All the time,” Geno said firmly. “I come in room, you stare at me, touch your mouth. Not fair.”

“Okay,” Sidney said, and drew in a breath. He hadn’t realized he was being so obvious. “Well, we both need to stop. It’s too hard, otherwise. We need to keep things professional.”

Geno laughed, sharp and humorless. “Professional. Okay.” 

Sidney winced again. “I know that sounds ridiculous, after we’ve—well. But we’re only doing this for a little while, and it’s important that we don’t let ourselves get, uh. Too involved.”

Geno stared at him flatly, his mouth compressed. “Fine. We be normal. Normal Geno and normal Sid don’t sit together, so I see you later.” He got out of his seat and headed toward the rear of the bus, and Sidney turned his face to the window and let him go.

\+ + +

“We’re going out tonight,” Tanger told him after practice. “Dinner, maybe a bar. The whole team. You’re not hiding in your hotel room again.”

“When did I hide?” Sidney asked, carefully untaping his socks and not at all avoiding eye contact.

“Sid’s buying the first round tonight,” Tanger announced to the room at large. Everyone laughed and cheered, even Geno. Sidney wouldn’t even have been able to tell how strenuously Geno was ignoring him if it weren’t for the bond, that blank pure absence of sensation from Geno tightly controlling his end of it.

“Don’t get too excited,” Sidney said. “We have—”

“A game tomorrow, of course,” Tanger said. “Only a few drinks, some fun, and in bed by midnight.”

“Fine,” Sidney said, and added, grinning, “But you’re buying the second round.”

The restaurant Tanger picked out was one of those weird L.A. fusion places where Sidney wasn’t sure which cuisines were being fused. Spanish, maybe Portuguese? Something Southeast Asian? He ordered a glass of wine and allowed Tanger to harass him into a second. He sometimes missed the wild nights out they used to have, when he was one of the young guys on the team and Jordy and Max were still around and always up for drinking more than was probably advisable, but he didn’t miss the hangovers or the sleep deprivation.

“That’s the first sign of old age,” Cullen said, when Sidney voiced these thoughts. “You don’t recover as well, you start getting really dedicated to your bedtime, if you look at tequila you see the Ghost of Hangovers Future and think twice, and then—boom! You’re turning forty and your wife likes to pluck out your gray hairs.”

“You don’t have any gray hairs, Cully,” Bonino said loyally from further down the table. 

“Is Sid getting old? Is twenty-nine old?” Flower asked. “Does that mean _I’m_ old?”

“Don’t worry, nobody would ever mistake you for an adult,” Kuni said, and Phil let out a low whistle and said, “ _Dang_.”

They did end up at a bar after that: a small place near the hotel, quiet and mostly empty on a Tuesday night. L.A. wasn’t much of a hockey town, and Sidney relaxed his guard almost completely after the bartender said to him, in apparent seriousness, “Are you guys in town for a convention?”

“Something like that,” Sidney said, and ordered the promised round.

He took a seat at a table in the back, away from most of the action. Geno held court at the bar, and Sidney watched him and succumbed to a brief yet riveting fantasy in which Geno came over, sat down beside him, and sucked a claim mark onto his neck.

Instead, it was Flower who slid in beside him and said, “I saw you and Geno kissing on the bus.”

Sidney choked on his beer. “What makes you think—”

“Yes, I can think of many other plausible reasons that you were hiding beneath a jacket,” Flower said. “Perhaps you were playing make-believe. Sid, I thought the bond was only for hockey.”

“It is,” Sidney said. “It’s supposed to be. It is.”

“But?” Flower asked, because he knew Sidney really well.

“It was different,” Sidney said reluctantly, the words dragging out of him. “Heat. This time. With the bond.”

“Ah,” Flower said, his expression changing from disapproval to sympathy. “Maybe you want to talk to Tanger about this?”

Sidney grimaced, because Tanger would say _I told you so_ , maybe not in so many words, and he would be right. “I’m not ready to talk about it yet. But I’ll let you know.”

“Whenever you like,” Flower said. “Don’t keep it bottled up forever. I know you like to pretend you don’t have any feelings, but that’s how you give yourself a bleeding ulcer.”

“I don’t think ulcers are actually linked to stress,” Sidney said. “That’s a common misconception.”

“What’s a misconception?” asked, Kuni asked, sitting down with a beer in each hand.

“Sidney is trying to be a real boy, but it’s hard for him,” Flower said. “Is one of those for me?”

“It is now,” Kuni said, and slid the beer across the table.

At the bar, Geno threw his head back as he laughed, baring his throat. Sidney looked away. He needed a break from his life for a while to get his head on straight. A few weeks at his lake house would do it, but he had a long season to get through before then.

\+ + +

They won against the Ducks, and then lost against the Kings in overtime the night after. It was a hard-fought game, and Sidney scored two goals, so he didn’t feel too bad about their performance.

As they walked out to the bus, Geno caught up with Sidney and set his hand on Sidney’s lower back for a moment, sliding up beneath his suit jacket, warm through the fabric of his shirt. “You come to my room later,” he murmured. “If you want.”

“Okay,” Sidney said obediently, too surprised and pleased to think it through. He and Geno had barely talked in the past couple of days, nothing beyond “great pass” or “stop letting them get you worked up.”

Geno took his hand away and kept moving, his longer stride eating up the pavement. At the door to the bus, he turned and gave Sidney a look that was probably illegal in some countries.

There was some chatter on the bus about going out, since they didn’t fly out to San Jose until the morning, but Sidney begged off, claiming he wanted to go over some tape. “I’m old, I’m tired, we went out last night,” he said, and Rust sighed very dramatically and said, “They told me the Penguins were a fun team, but it was a lie.”

Sidney grinned. “Yeah, someone fed you a real pack of nonsense. Hockey isn’t supposed to be fun.” 

“Rusty, come here,” Tanger called. “Don’t listen to Sid, he wants to crush your dreams.”

Alone in his hotel room, Sidney ordered some dinner and tried to talk himself out of taking Geno up on his offer. It was okay from a publicity standpoint as long as nobody caught him sneaking around the hotel, but Sidney had basically promised himself he would stay away from Geno in the interests of not ruining Geno’s life. What he wanted to do and what he knew he should do were polar opposites, and the bond was a constant tugging pressure drawing him toward Geno and telling him to throw all caution to the wind. He didn’t have the willpower to resist something he wanted so much, not when Geno was propositioning him so shamelessly. 

He had just about come around to staying in and turning in early when his phone vibrated with a message from Geno: _You come?_

Sidney dropped his phone on the bed and gave up. There was only so much he could be expected to withstand.

Geno was still in his suit trousers and shirt, the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. He tugged Sidney into the room by the waistband of his track pants and kicked the door closed. “You make me wait,” he said.

“It won’t kill you,” Sidney said, and pulled Geno down into a kiss.

Geno made a hungry noise and walked Sidney over to the bed, thrusting his tongue into Sidney’s mouth. He pushed Sidney down onto the edge of the mattress and started tugging at his t-shirt. “Up, up,” he said, and Sidney raised his arms and let Geno strip his shirt off. His pulse was already racing, his dick already fattening up. Geno made him crazy.

The room was a little cold, and Sidney’s nipples hardened immediately. Geno pinched them each in turn and dropped to his knees on the carpet. His full mouth was wet from kissing. He yanked at Sidney’s track pants, pulling them down just far enough to get Sidney’s cock out, and all of the breath left Sidney’s body as Geno pushed the foreskin down the rest of the way to bare the crown of Sidney’s dick.

“Look at me,” Geno said. “Eyes open,” and he bent to suck the head into his mouth.

It was devastating to sit there and watch Geno go down on him. Geno had no shame and, apparently, no gag reflex, and he moaned extravagantly and glanced up at Sidney through his eyelashes and generally put on a show better than most of the porn Sidney had watched. And then, even worse, he heard Geno’s zipper slide down, followed by the unmistakable noise of Geno jerking himself off.

Geno pulled off and sucked a wet kiss at the base of Sidney’s dick. “You play so good tonight, so hot,” he said. “Second goal, you tip in so fast, I almost don’t see. Then I’m sit on bench and think about how I want you to fuck me.”

“We can do that,” Sidney said, breathless, watching Geno mouth at his balls.

“First I give you new mark,” Geno said, evidently determined to make Sidney lose his mind entirely. “Lie down.” Sidney did, and Geno tugged his pants down a little further and sucked a bruise onto the soft skin of Sidney’s lower belly, just above the crease of his hip. Sidney bit down on his own hand to avoid crying out.

“Okay, you fuck me now,” Geno said at last, and Sidney lay on his back and watched Geno strip down, and trembled with how much he wanted to bury his dick in Geno’s ass.

“How you want?” Geno asked, thumbs hooked in his boxer-briefs.

“Hands and knees,” Sidney said, because he knew that watching Geno’s face would ruin him, and Geno’s smirk went from dirty to absolutely filthy.

He wanted to take his time opening Geno up with his fingers, to really enjoy the way Geno panted and shifted his hips around, but Geno wasn’t having any of it. Geno kicked impatiently at Sidney’s leg and said, “Hurry up, hurry,” and finally pulled Sidney’s hand away and did it himself, three fingers buried in his own ass, which—was pretty great in its own way, and Sidney sat back on his heels and watched.

“Okay,” Geno said, after not very long at all, and reached up to grip the headboard. 

Sidney could tell from the instant he slid inside that he wasn’t going to last long. Geno pushed back onto Sidney’s dick with every thrust, and he was so tight and hot and the noises he made were so sinful that Sidney didn’t stand a chance. “Harder,” Geno said, shifting his hips around until he found the angle he liked, and then he said, “Don’t stop, there, there, _Sid_ ,” and Sidney gritted his teeth and tried to give it to him, whatever Geno wanted.

The bite mark on his hip throbbed. He watched the flex and bunch of the muscles in Geno’s back, and watched his cock sinking into Geno’s stretched hole, and it seemed like each time they had sex was better and more devastating than the time before.

“Do you like this? Is it good?” he asked, wishing now that he could see Geno’s face.

“Yes, yes,” Geno panted, and the bond opened for a brief moment, just long enough to overwhelm Sidney with the sensation of Geno’s greedy enjoyment. He felt so good, he was so turned on, Sidney was fucking him just right, and Sidney stopped worrying and worked his hips in that same strong rhythm, driving them both toward the edge.

“Touch yourself,” he said, feeling his orgasm build too powerfully for him to stave it off. “Will you? Geno—”

Geno made a wordless sound of agreement and dropped one shoulder to get a hand on his cock. Sidney closed his eyes and thought about the most disgusting things that came to mind—the way his pads smelled after a game, that one time an animal had died in his attic—and tried to hold on long enough for Geno to come. “Ohh,” Geno moaned, and said something in Russian, and his ass squeezed rhythmically around Sidney’s dick as he came; and Sidney’s hips shuddered in a few more erratic thrusts before he followed Geno over.

They lay on the bed together for a few minutes, breathing hard, before Sidney went into the washroom to ditch the condom and mop up between his thighs. When he came back out, Geno had turned onto his side, an invitation Sidney couldn’t pass up. He curled up against Geno’s back and pulled the sheets up over them, and wrapped his arm around Geno’s waist. Geno let out a contented grunt and shifted against him, settling in.

Holding Geno against him, warm and sated, made something hurt in Sidney’s chest. He closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to the back of Geno’s neck. “I should go soon. The guys will be getting back from dinner.”

Geno took Sidney’s hand in his and dragged it up to cradle against his chest. “Sleep here, sneak out in morning.”

“I shouldn’t,” Sidney said. He kissed Geno’s neck again. “Hey, does what we just did count as a quickie?”

Geno reached out and checked the time on his phone. “Fifteen minutes, so I think yes. Fast, hard, very hot.” He turned over, draping his leg over Sidney’s hip, and gave Sidney a kiss. “Good thing we have day off tomorrow.”

Sidney laughed. “Your ass is fine.”

“Could go again, then it’s not so fine,” Geno said. He kissed Sidney again, and said, “Okay, you go, tomorrow we act normal, don’t talk.”

“You can talk to me, Geno,” Sidney said. “I didn’t mean we have to ignore each other.”

“You say, too hard for you,” Geno said, his expression shuttering. “You say, need to be professional, don’t touch, don’t kiss. Then you come to my room and let me do whatever I like. And then tomorrow, again, don’t touch, don’t kiss. Decide.”

“You told me to come up here!” Sidney protested. “Geno—”

But Geno’s mood had shifted from playful to annoyed, and there was no coming back from that. “I’m clean up,” he announced, and went into the washroom and closed the door. Sidney waited a few minutes for him to come out, but when it was clear Geno was waiting for him to leave, Sidney pulled his clothes back on and left.

\+ + +

The team flew out in the morning while Sidney had to stay in Los Angeles with Jen for an extra day and film a commercial for Adidas. Nobody expected him to act, at least, just skate around and look intense—that was the exact word the director used—but it was still a long day, and he was glad when it was done and they could head for the airport.

He checked his phone in the cab. There was a text message waiting for him from Geno: _Team miss you today!_

Sidney recognized the message for the olive branch it was. He typed out, _Heading to the airport now. I’ll be there in a few hours._

He checked his phone before the plane took off, and again when it landed. There was no response. That was fine. They were being normal.

The road trip ended the next day with a glorious shut-out against the Sharks and a not-so-glorious red-eye flight back to the East Coast. Everyone was tired but cheerful, ready to get home and see their families, sleep in their own beds. Sidney drank two beers with dinner on the plane and slept until they touched down in Pittsburgh in the morning. 

They had that day off, to recover and catch up on sleep. Sidney shuffled around his house and made some phone calls and debated the merits of ordering pizza versus going to the grocery store. He didn’t think about Geno, or what Geno was doing. He had his own life, and Geno had his, and that was fine. They didn’t need to talk.

He met with Dr. Vyas before practice the next afternoon and learned that his hormone levels were back to baseline.

“We’ll need to give it some more time to be certain,” Dr. Vyas said, “as you went into heat only a week ago. However, Melissa gave me your post-heat readings from your road trip, and based on that and on the trend we saw before your departure, I’m confident the suppressants are working.”

“I’m not cycling anymore?” Sidney asked.

“We’ll give it a few more days,” Dr. Vyas said, and smiled. 

Sidney went down to the locker room in a daze. He wasn’t sure how he felt. 

“You okay, Sid?” Kuni asked him quietly.

“Yeah,” Sidney said. “I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep well, I guess. Still on West Coast time.”

He skated on a line with Sheary and Hagelin during practice, and they were both in a good mood, cracking jokes and talking about Thanksgiving, even though American Thanksgiving wasn’t for another couple of weeks and they would all be in Minneapolis anyway. “Nobody’s pie is better than my mom’s apple pie,” Sheary said, and Hags snorted and said, “Apples? In pie? What kind of American abomination is this?”

“You don’t have apple pie in Sweden?” Sheary asked.

“No, I’ve never heard of it,” Hags said, his eyes wide.

Sheary was incredibly gullible, which was an unfortunate trait in a hockey player, and he glanced at Sidney uncertainly and said, “Is that true?”

“Don’t listen to anything Haggy tells you,” Sidney said. “I’ve _eaten_ apple pie in Sweden,” and Sheary threw his gloves down on the ice and put up his fists, tiny but ferocious, and Sidney laughed so hard Hagelin pushed him into the boards to make him stop.

“Good practice, Sid?” Geno asked him as they all went back to the locker room after practice.

“Sure,” Sidney said, hoping he wasn’t going to blush or trip over his feet like an awkward teenager. “Those guys are both great. Sheary’s a good winger.”

“You laughing a lot with him,” Geno said. “It’s good. Should be happy.” He gave Sidney a small smile and went on ahead.

Sidney should have said something to him then, but he didn’t. They had a charity thing that afternoon, buying winter clothes for underprivileged kids, and Sidney loitered around afterward, pretending to look at skates while he waited for Geno to finish up in the photo booth. He could hear Geno carrying on with his shopping buddy, really hamming it up about the oversized sunglasses they had been given as props. Well, no surprise there: everyone knew Geno was great with kids.

“You thinking about getting some new skates, Sid?” Dumoulin asked as he went by.

Sidney laughed awkwardly. “No, uh, just checking out what they’ve got on offer, you know?”

“Sure,” Dumoulin said, looking like he did not, in fact, know, but nobody lasted on the team for very long if they weren’t willing to tolerate Sidney’s idiosyncrasies. He had overheard more than one “don’t take it personally if Sid acts weird” speech, although fortunately those had decreased in frequency as the years went by. Or maybe Sidney’s reputation had just started preceding him.

Geno emerged at last, and Sidney gestured him over with a jerk of his chin, not entirely coincidentally baring his throat a little in the process.

Geno came over. His hands were loose in his pockets. His hair had probably never been combed, and he was still wearing the stupid sunglasses. He looked really good. “What’s up, Sid?”

“Can we talk?” Sidney asked. 

Geno’s eyebrows went up. “Now?”

“No—in private,” Sidney said. He should have picked a better time. Tanger was turning around to stare at them, and Sidney could feel himself flushing, stupidly, because there were plenty of totally legitimate reasons for him to have a conversation with Geno.

“Okay,” Geno said after a moment. “You come to my house later. Six.”

“Okay,” Sidney said. He couldn’t avoid thinking about the last time he had been at Geno’s house, the night after the Panthers game, when Geno rode his dick and then made him pancakes in the morning. He didn’t think that would happen this time.

\+ + +

Geno answered the door wearing nothing but sweatpants, which Sidney had to interpret as a deliberate attempt to throw him off balance.

“Come in,” Geno said, without really moving aside to make room, forcing Sidney to sidle past him close enough to feel the heat of Geno’s body.

Geno led him into the formal living room and pointed at an uncomfortable-looking couch, upholstered in probably the ugliest paisley fabric Sidney had ever seen. “Sit.”

Okay. Geno was in a mood. That was fine. Sidney sat, and Geno sat in an armchair, not the one closest to Sidney but one a little further away. The wall was covered in photographs of Geno’s various adventures: hugging deadly animals, pretending to fall off a snowmobile, or possibly actually falling.

“Talk,” Geno said.

All of Sidney’s planned phrases died in his mouth. He stared at Geno’s chapped lips, the little tuft of hair on his chest. They hadn’t been alone since the last time they had sex, and Sidney was remembering it in vivid detail, and the way Geno had kicked him out afterwards—the way Sidney kicked himself out.

“Sid,” Geno said, his expression changing, shifting into something a little less forbidding. 

“Sorry if this is a bad time,” Sidney said, because he didn’t totally understand what was going on with Geno, but he could certainly read the signs of Geno’s irritation. “Uh, I wanted to talk to you because Dr. Vyas thinks my suppressants are working. I’ll know for sure within the next week, and then we can break the bond.”

“Hmm,” Geno said. He crossed his legs at the ankles and regarded Sidney thoughtfully. “We don’t need to do now. Lots of trouble, maybe wait until season is over.” 

The thought of staying bonded to Geno for that long, missing him and thinking about him all the time and unable to have him, was nauseating. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” 

Geno raised his eyebrows. “Why you think?”

“I just do,” Sidney said, because he didn’t know how to talk about this and never had. “I think we should break the bond.”

“Is hard work,” Geno said, still watching him in that careful, assessing way. “Needs focus, special bond doctor. Better to wait until summer, we have more time, don’t need to worry about hockey.” 

“You can’t honestly want to stay bonded to me until—Geno, that’s six months away.” Sidney shook his head. “Look, I’m sorry about all of this, okay? I should have just waited a few more weeks for the suppressants to start working. But I freaked out and I jumped the gun, and I don’t want you to be stuck with me for any longer than you have to.”

Geno made a sharp dismissive gesture with his hand. “Don’t feel guilty. Probably bond makes you more—steady? Tells body, everything is okay, don’t need heat now, calm down. Then suppressants work. If we don’t bond, maybe suppressants don’t work. No way to know, so don’t feel sorry.”

“Maybe,” Sidney said. Maybe Geno was right, but guilt had been gnawing at him since he talked with Dr. Vyas, and he couldn’t shake it off so easily. “I still should have—”

“No,” Geno said. “You ask, I say yes. I make choice. Don’t feel sorry.”

“Okay,” Sidney said. He looked down at his hands, the hangnail he’d picked at until it bled. 

Geno sighed heavily. “Fine, you guilty, then do what I want and wait to break bond. It’s too much trouble now.”

“It shouldn’t take more than a couple of days,” Sidney said. “I’m not sure why you think it’s going to be such hard work.”

“We have very strong bond,” Geno said, his forehead creasing. “Hard to break.”

“What?” Sidney said. “No we don’t.” 

Geno exclaimed sharply in Russian. “Sid, we very bond-compatible. Cannot believe you don’t know this.”

“I—what?” Sidney said.

Geno gave him an incredulous look. “You joking? We bond when you’re not even in heat, and it’s so easy, we don’t have to try. You think that’s regular? You tell reporters, oh, bond is not special, I know if Geno’s get angry but that’s all. But we kind of like talk through bond, you know, you say to me how you feel and I say back. What they teach you in Canada? You think every bond is like this?”

“No, I—I don’t,” Sidney admitted. “I guess I haven’t wanted to think about it.”

Geno leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, and scrubbed his hands across his face. He took a deep breath, and then another. When he lowered his hands again, his eyes fixed on Sidney’s face, shockingly bright. He was, incredibly, blushing, pink across his cheeks and down his throat. “I want to keep bond,” Geno said. “Not only for season, for always. Want you in my bed, in my house, keep you with me always.”

Sidney felt his entire body flush, painfully hot. He experienced the same calm he always did the moment before a bad hit. He could see it coming, but there wasn’t any time to brace for it. All he could do was hope for the best. 

“I don’t,” Sidney said. His voice sounded very even, somehow. “I don’t want that.”

Geno exploded to his feet, and Sidney balled up his hands and forced himself not to flinch. “Don’t lie to me!” Geno yelled, his arms flung wide. “You lie all the time—lie to self, to friends, lie to me—”

“I’m not lying,” Sidney said, when really what he wanted to do was beg Geno not to be angry with him.

Geno continued with no sign of having heard him. “You are terrible with bond! Cannot control at all, I know always how you feel, you say you don’t want but I feel how much you do. It’s like you’re shout at me, Sid, all the time shout how much you want love and family but too scared, don’t think you deserve—”

He couldn’t bear to sit there while Geno outlined all of his most secret and painful thoughts, the things he had never wanted anyone else to know. He rose to his feet and said, in an awful choked voice, “I’ll see myself out.”

“Sid,” Geno said. He lowered his arms. All of the anger drained from his posture. “Sid, wait. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to—”

“I have to go,” Sidney said, and maybe it was the bond, maybe Geno could read the shame and despair and fury rolling out of Sidney like thick black smoke, but at any rate Geno didn’t try to stop him, and Sidney walked out of the house and got in his car and drove home.

\+ + +

Sidney had forgotten the extent to which he and Geno had ignored each other, subtly and diligently, for a solid seven and a half years. They were friends, in a way; they did things with the team, they joked around in the locker room, they admired and supported each other. But it started and stopped with hockey, and they were hardly ever alone. And that was how it had been, for _years_ , until Sidney’s suppressants stopped working.

But that was normal, and that was what Geno reverted to now, after their—conversation. He smiled and talked shit and was careful to never look at Sidney for too long, and Sidney felt a great aching pit in his belly, hollow and cold. It was terrible to be bonded to someone who was doing his best to act like a stranger. Sidney was constantly aware of Geno’s presence at the rink, and once, at night, caught himself reaching out through the bond to Geno, searching through the distance between them for some sign that Geno was reaching back.

A couple of weeks went by. They won some games and lost some, and went on another road trip. Sidney skated, practiced, worked out with Andy, had dinner with Tanger and Catherine once and with Mario and Nathalie twice. He was surprised to realize that he was lonely. His close friends were scattered across two countries or increasingly busy with their families, and the things that had occupied him before—charity work, fantasy football, television—were no longer enough. He didn’t have a ton of free time during the season, but even a few hours at home in the evening stretched out endlessly. He made increasingly elaborate dinners just to kill some time, and started going on walks around his neighborhood, kicking dry leaves and thinking about nothing. 

Maybe he should get a cat. Dogs needed too much attention—that was why Sam was still in Cole Harbour, after all—but cats were pretty self-sufficient. He wouldn’t feel so guilty about leaving a cat alone during road trips. It would be nice to have something to come home to, even if that something weighed eight pounds and couldn’t talk.

“I thought you weren’t a cat person,” Andy said, when Sidney mentioned this scheme to him.

“I like cats,” Sidney said, and wobbled a little, and readjusted. Single-leg squats were brutal. “I don’t have anything against cats.” 

“Get a little lower on the left,” Andy said. “Didn’t you avoid Duper’s house for years because of his cat?”

“It wasn’t because of the cat, it was because the cat was _black_ ,” Sidney said. “That’s inviting trouble.”

“You superstitious fuck,” Andy said fondly. 

“It’s a common superstition,” Sidney said. “This isn’t something I came up with to be weird.”

“Okay, okay,” Andy said. “No black cats, I get it. Maybe you could get a goldfish?”

He didn’t want a goldfish, but he went as far as scoping out the local animal shelter’s website for cats available for adoption. He spent some time looking at the profile of a sweet-faced senior tabby before he decided he was being ridiculous and closed the browser tab. Adopting a pet was an overreaction to a few weeks of sex with Geno, hardly a blip on the radar of their decade-long professional relationship. He had chosen hockey a long time ago, and he didn’t regret it. Everyone had to make compromises. No one got everything they wanted.

He got into a fight in New York when they played the Rangers, the second game in a home-and-home set. McDonagh crushed Sheary into the boards during the first, and all of Sidney’s grief and frustration and bald-faced misery came boiling out of him. He grabbed the back of McDonagh’s sweater and shoved him down onto the ice. McDonagh came up swinging, and Sidney swung right back, because fuck him and the Rangers and the city of New York and this entire fucking league, the game of hockey itself: fuck all of it.

“CROSBY SUCKS! CROSBY SUCKS!” the crowd chanted. 

Geno tried to talk to him on the bench after he got out of the penalty box, and Sidney turned away and pretended not to hear him, so fed up with the shitty disaster of his life that he couldn’t speak. He wanted to get back on the ice. If all he had was hockey, he was going to play the best fucking hockey he could.

He got three points that night, and they creamed the Rangers, 6-1.

Later, after the adrenaline wore off, he was ashamed of himself for his temper tantrum. Not for fighting McDonagh—he would have done that again in a heartbeat—but for the awful self-pity, and the petulant way he had behaved to Geno. Sidney knew how fortunate he was, and how much his parents had sacrificed on his behalf, and it was shameful for him to be any less than ecstatic every day of his life. He should thank his lucky stars every time he got to lace up his skates—and he did, he was grateful every time, but lately, the gratitude didn’t always follow him off the ice.

The team was in high spirits on the plane ride home, and Sidney did his best to participate in their celebrating. But after he drove home, before he got out of his car, he had to sit in his garage and press his forehead against the steering wheel and take a few deep, shaky breaths before he felt like he could go inside.

\+ + +

They flew to Minneapolis to lose a game against the Wild, and then home for a game against the Devils. Sidney had lost a few pounds, and Trinca, weighing him the morning of the Devils game, frowned and said, “How did this happen? Did you forget that cheesecake exists?”

“I don’t know,” Sidney said. “I guess I haven’t been very hungry.”

“Hmm,” Trinca said, frowning harder. “I want you back up to weight by this time next week.”

“It’s okay, Alex, he’s got plenty of ass to spare,” said Flower, who of course was lurking around to nosily oversee the whole operation. 

“Can it, Fleury,” Trinca said. “You’re down a pound and a half, so you’re on my naughty list, too.”

“I just took a really big dump this morning!” Flower protested. 

He overheard Trinca talking about it with Sullivan later, quietly enough that he wouldn’t have heard if he didn’t twig to his name. “Crosby’s down almost six pounds,” Trinca said, “which isn’t like him. You know anything?”

“No, he seems fine,” Sullivan said, and Sidney watched as they both turned to look at Geno, who was busy taping his stick, oblivious.

“I’m not going in there,” Trinca said.

Sullivan sighed. “That’s on me. Thanks, Alex. Keep me in the loop about Fleury and Wilson.”

After the game, a shootout victory, and after Sidney talked to the media for a while—which was hard, now that he knew exactly what was being said about him, and about Geno, and worst of all, about him-and-Geno—and showered, Sullivan came to find him.

“If this is about the six pounds,” Sidney said, “I’m on top of it.”

Sullivan smiled. “Busted. Look, if there’s something off the ice that might affect your on-ice performance—”

“I don’t think it’s been affected,” Sidney said.

“I’m not criticizing you, Sidney,” Sullivan said gently. “But the coaching staff want to be able to help, if anything is going on. Is it about your suppressants?”

Sidney forcibly unclenched. “No. The suppressants are working. Dr. Vyas will tell you if anything changes there.”

“Then you and Geno—”

“We’ll break the bond when we have some time off,” Sidney said. “Maybe during the bye week. It’s fine for now.”

“Okay,” Sullivan said, and nodded. “Talk to one of us if there’s anything we can do to help. Everyone’s got your back, Sid.” He waited a moment for Sidney to respond, but Sidney couldn’t think of anything to say. “Get some dessert with dinner tonight, okay? Coach’s orders.”

“For sure,” Sidney said, and managed a smile. “I’ll order something good.”

The team had already made plans to go out, and with a win to celebrate, Sidney knew he needed to be there. They had rented out the back room of a local steakhouse, and the booze started flowing pretty freely, the guys not bothering to hold back when they knew they had two days off ahead of them. All of the 25-and-unders were doing shots. 

Sidney sat with Kuni, Flower, and Cullen and watched Geno having a conversation with Tanger that went from jovial to tense and ended with Geno moving tables to sit with the Swedes.

“You know anything about that?” Kuni asked, and Sidney shook his head and took a long swallow of his beer.

“Geno’s been a bear lately,” Cullen said. “Three points tonight. I’m surprised Tanger’s willing to poke that.”

“How about Tanger’s shootout goal, eh?” Sidney asked, desperate for a change of subject.

Cullen grinned. “How about you tying it up with fourteen seconds left? Fair warning, I overheard some plotting tonight while you were doing press. The kids want to get you wasted.”

“Are there plans? Who’s in charge of this?” Flower said, and then, “Never mind, I can figure it out,” and went over to talk to Rusty; and when he came back a few minutes later, he was carrying a tray with a bunch of shot glasses on it. Olli and Sheary trailed after him, grinning hugely.

Kuni started laughing. “Bottoms up, Sid.”

“Those can’t _all_ be for me,” Sidney said.

“Drink, drink, drink!” Olli started chanting, and Sidney shook his head and grinned and downed one of the shots.

“Do another one!” Sheary said, and okay—Sidney mostly stuck to beer these days, but the whole table full of young guys had turned around to watch him expectantly, smirking and giggling and shoving at each other a little, and he could cope with a minor hangover the next day, if it would make those guys so happy to see him cut loose a little.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “One more, and that’s _it_.”

Four shots in, Geno came over with a glass of water in one hand. He parked himself by Sidney’s chair, his body angled in toward Sidney so that his back was to the room, blocking Sidney off. He set the glass on the table, his expression stern. Sidney stared up at him helplessly, his head a little fuzzy from the combined effects of two beers and four shots of vodka. Geno smelled so good to him still, even with the suppressants, and Sidney didn’t know if he would ever stop feeling like this, if it would ever go away.

“Drink,” Geno said.

“Okay,” Sidney said, trapped by Geno’s gaze.

“Good,” Geno said, and went back to his own table.

“Wow,” Olli said. “How do I get special delivery from Geno?”

Everyone was watching him. He had to laugh it off. He grinned, hoping it didn’t look too deranged, and said, “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

\+ + +

He felt a little gruesome when he woke up, but some coffee and scrambled eggs and ibuprofen cured what ailed him. He did a long workout on the bike in his basement, went to the grocery store, called Duper and Nate to catch up. That got him through to lunch. Then there was an entire afternoon to get through before he could justify making dinner.

He called Andy. “Am I allowed to go to the rink?”

“No,” Andy said, and hung up on him. Then he called back and said, “How much have you eaten today? Order a pizza.”

“I can’t eat a whole pizza,” Sidney said.

“Eat half of it, and then eat the other half after dinner,” Andy said. “And don’t call me again. And don’t go to the rink.”

He didn’t go to the rink. He drove to an overlook along the river that Mario had told him about years ago, nothing more than a bench at the top of a hill, a steep scramble up from the gravel parking lot. The weather wasn’t too cold, but Sidney was still the only person there. He sat on the bench with his hands tucked in his pockets, watching the wind stir the bare branches of the trees and listening to the river below.

He went to Geno’s house that night after dinner. He didn’t have a plan. He wasn’t sure if Geno would even be home, but there was a light on in one of the first-floor windows when he let himself in through the gate. By the time he parked his car in the driveway, Geno had come to the door and stood waiting there, framed by the warm glow of the lights in his foyer.

Sidney climbed the steps, feeling awkward and stupid. He shouldn’t have come. Geno’s feet were bare, his toes curling over the threshold. “Hi,” Sidney said.

“Hi, Sid,” Geno said. His mouth crimped a little at the corner. He stepped back to let Sidney come inside, and that was the last moment Sidney could have stopped himself, his final chance to turn back.

He didn’t leave; he followed Geno inside.

Geno took his hand and led him upstairs to the bedroom. Geno’s game day suit was still strewn over the back of a chair; there was a book open on the nightstand, face down, the spine creased. 

Geno kept his eyes lowered as he pulled off his clothes, and Sidney took the opportunity to look his fill, gorging himself on the sight of Geno’s small dark nipples, the faded scar on his knee, trying to commit every detail to memory.

When Geno glanced up, naked, Sidney was still standing there with his hands at his fly. Geno’s face did something complicated. “Too many clothes,” he said.

“Sorry,” Sidney said, and stripped down.

In bed, Geno settled on top of him, his weight pushing Sidney down into the sheets. Geno claimed his mouth in a hard, demanding kiss, and he didn’t let up, kissing Sidney again and again, and using his teeth, hardly giving Sidney a chance to breathe.

It was rougher than Sidney had expected. He tried to squirm away, but Geno made a low noise and pinned him to the mattress, and Sidney felt a jolt of pure animal fear.

Geno immediately rolled off him, panting. He draped an arm across his eyes. “Sid, how you can think—”

“I know,” Sidney said. “I know you wouldn’t. You surprised me.” He paused. “I mean, I think I could take you, anyway.”

Geno huffed. “Yes. Sorry, I’m—little bit mad. Maybe it’s bad idea—”

“It is,” Sidney said. “It’s a terrible idea. Come back here and kiss me again.”

This time it was what he had wanted, long hot wet kisses and Geno rolling their hips together a little, Sidney’s fingers digging into the taut muscles of Geno’s back, Geno breathing hard and grunting deep in his chest the way he did when he was really turned on. Geno got a hand under Sidney’s knee and pulled his leg up and out of the way to slot their hips together more fully, grinding his cock against Sidney’s belly.

Geno broke away to kiss Sidney’s cheek, his ear. “Get lube,” he said. His lips brushed against Sidney’s skin.

Sidney reached over and got the lube out of the nightstand: the kind that was good for jacking off, not for fucking. He didn’t mind it dry, but of course Geno was the type of guy who used lube every time he jerked off, messy and indulgent. Sidney squeezed out a generous handful of lube and reached down to slick up Geno’s cock and his own before he wiped his hand on the sheet and pulled Geno down with his arms around Geno’s neck.

He couldn’t move much in that position, only cling to Geno and let Geno work their hips together at a slow and ruinous pace. Geno talked to him in sweet soft Russian and pressed kisses to his face and slack mouth. It was just like it had been the last time Sidney was in heat, when Geno was so infinitely tender, and Sidney knew now that Geno had been telling him, with every careful touch, how much he loved him.

It hurt to breathe. Sidney felt gutted. Geno kissed the corner of his eye, the curve of his cheekbone, and Sidney turned his face away, unable to bear the affection, and was mortified to feel a single hot tear tracing down his cheek.

“Sid,” Geno murmured. He followed the track of the tear with his lips. “Say my name to me.”

“Geno?” Sidney said.

“No,” Geno said. He ducked his head, nosing at Sidney’s ear. “You say before—the first time—”

“Zhenya,” Sidney said, filled to the brim with love and longing. 

“Say like this,” Geno said, and repeated the syllables, his voice quiet in Sidney’s ear. 

“Zhenya,” Sidney tried again, and Geno buried his face against Sidney’s neck and said, “Yes. Just like that.” 

The sex was almost an afterthought, after that. Sidney let the pain in his chest temper the pleasure rising in his belly until the sensation of Geno’s cock sliding against his won out at last, and he braced his feet on the bed and pushed his hips up, his lower back a tight arc as his orgasm spilled out. Geno picked up the pace then, rubbing the head of his dick through the mess of Sidney’s come, and Sidney held Geno in his arms and felt him tremble and knew it was the very last time.

When it was done, they lay where they were for a few minutes. Sidney spread his hands across the flare of Geno’s ribs and felt his chest rise and fall with each breath. The sky was black outside, the window a black blank square opening onto the woods behind Geno’s house. 

Geno rolled away at last with a long sigh, and stretched on his side, facing away from Sidney. “I think about what you say,” he said.

Sidney sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, turning his own back to Geno, like somehow it would be less painful if they were looking in opposite directions. “Which part?”

“You were right,” Geno said, and the proper conjugation was a sure sign he had rehearsed his words. “It’s not good idea to stay bonded.”

“No,” Sidney said. Each word hurt, and was true. “I’m glad you agree.”

“We break bond over bye week,” Geno said. “Then it’s done.”

“Okay,” Sidney said. He sat on the edge of the bed for a minute longer, but there was nothing else to say, really. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Geno said. He didn’t move.

Sidney got up and pulled his clothes on. It was over: he and Geno could break the bond, draw a line beneath the whole ordeal, and never talk about it again. Maybe it would even be funny, eventually, in another seven and a half years.

\+ + +

He went to the rink the next morning to film his bit for the annual holiday video. Most of the team would be there, and he spent a few minutes making sure his game face was on before he got out of the car.

He checked in with Jen, and then went to make himself a snack with the aim of eating it in Trinca’s office. He heard voices in the trainers’ room as he walked down the hall. The door was propped open, and he poked his head inside, fully prepared to gloat about his egg and cheese English muffin.

But it wasn’t Trinca in the room, or Andy, or any of the other training staff. It was Gonch and Geno, sitting facing each other on adjacent exam tables, and Gonch’s hand on Geno’s knee as he said something, and Geno nodding and looking up and seeing Sidney standing frozen in the doorway. Geno’s eyes were red.

“Sorry,” Sidney said, and took a stumbling step backward, and went off blindly down the hall.

He tossed the sandwich in the first trash can he saw.

He filmed his single line for the video, playing the part of Sidney Crosby playing Buddy the Elf. He sat around for a while afterward and watched some of the other guys film their bits, most of them being so over the top about it that he couldn’t help laughing.

“Let’s go to lunch,” Flower said, once things had more or less wrapped up. “Sandwich place?”

Sidney felt like shit and knew he wouldn’t be good company, but anything was better than sitting in his house all afternoon dwelling on the extent of his past and present mistakes. “Absolutely,” he said.

It was late for lunch, but the sandwich place was still pretty packed. Flower ruthlessly snagged a prime booth right by the window, cutting off a middle-aged woman who shot Flower a dirty look that he ignored. Sidney gave her an apologetic smile and her scowl deepened. Not a hockey fan, then. 

He had expected Flower’s lunch invitation to come with strings attached, but instead Flower launched immediately into talking about his daughters. Sidney was always happy to look at adorable pictures and make appreciative noises, but his head wasn’t in the game. He couldn’t stop thinking about Geno’s red-rimmed eyes, the hunched slope of his shoulders, like—

“Sidney,” Flower said, and Sidney blinked and said, “Oh, for sure, she’s really cute.” 

“You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?” Flower asked. 

“I—not really,” Sidney said. “Sorry.” 

Flower put his sandwich down and leaned across the table. “What’s going on? Trouble in paradise?” 

“Everything’s fine,” Sidney said. 

“Really?” Flower asked. “You don’t look fine. You’ve lost weight. And Geno’s been going around acting like he saw someone being unkind to an animal.” 

“I think I messed up pretty bad,” Sidney admitted. His throat felt tight. “With Geno. I think maybe I’ve been messing up for a long time.” He drew in a breath. He absolutely was not going to cry in public. “I think…” His voice cracked, and he shook his head and gave up.

“Oh, Sid,” Flower said. “Come on, we’ll go to my house. I’m going to call Kris, okay?”

“Okay,” Sidney said, and let Flower wrap up their sandwiches and hustle him out the door.

Tanger was waiting in Flower’s kitchen by the time they arrived. He took one look at Sidney and drew him into a hug, and Sidney sagged against him and buried his face in Tanger’s shoulder.

“You’ve had a hard couple of months, my friend,” Tanger said, and Sidney nodded tightly, unable to speak.

They sat at Flower’s kitchen table and Sidney told them everything, the whole story from the very beginning, starting with that drunken night after the Cup. It didn’t take very long; it wasn’t much of a story, and they already knew a lot of it. He finished with what he had done the night before, and with seeing Geno in the trainers’ room that morning, probably crying, probably because of Sidney.

“I talked to him after the Devils game, you know,” Tanger said. “I asked him what he’s been doing to you. But I think you’re doing it to each other, or maybe—Sid, you are doing it to yourself.”

“I know,” Sidney said. “But I can’t. I can’t. Playing hockey is everything to me.”

“You don’t have to choose,” Flower said. “It isn’t hockey or Geno. There’s lots of focus on you, it’s true, but Kris and I have both managed to have families and still play, and we aren’t the only ones—Kuni, Matt—”

“It’s different for me,” Sidney said. “You know it is.”

Flower and Tanger exchanged a look. Sidney dug his fingers into his thighs. He wanted to go home and watch game tape for a long time, anything to escape this conversation and stop thinking about Geno. 

“Sid, this isn’t healthy,” Tanger said. “You’re making yourself miserable for no reason. I don’t understand why—”

“You’re right,” Sidney said. “You don’t understand. I’m sorry, but—you can’t understand what it’s been like for me. I’m doing my best.”

Flower sighed, looking defeated. “We know, Sid. You always do.”

Sidney wrapped up the soggy remains of his sandwich and got up to throw it away.

\+ + +

His parents arrived before practice the next morning. He went to pick them up at the airport, and in the handful of minutes it took for him to get out of his car, hug them both, and load their suitcases into his trunk, he caught three different people taking pictures.

“That’s worse than usual, isn’t it?” his dad said, once they were on the road.

“People always take pictures of me,” Sidney said.

“Maybe it’s worse than usual because of all this coverage about your bond,” his dad said.

Sidney forced himself to release his death grip on the steering wheel. “It isn’t any worse than usual.”

“Sidney,” his mom said, in her changing-the-subject voice, and he was grateful for a split second before she continued, “we’re still having dinner with Geno, aren’t we?”

“Oh,” he said. He had forgotten. He hadn’t mentioned it to Geno, and he couldn’t imagine asking him now, after what had happened. “Maybe on Friday, since we don’t have a game.” That would give him a few days to invent a plausible excuse.

“That would be wonderful,” his mom said, “I’m really looking forward to it,” and Sidney wished he were a better man and could tell his mother the truth, but he still felt too raw to even contemplate discussing his feelings about Geno. 

He got his parents settled in at the house and then drove to the rink for practice. Geno seemed normal, skating hard and getting a little physical during drills. He met Sidney’s eyes across the ice and nodded firmly: forgiveness, if Sidney wanted to accept it, and a return to the status quo.

Sidney remembered thinking that Geno was a coward, and couldn’t believe now that he had ever thought of himself as brave. They’d had a chance together, him and Geno, maybe the best chance Sidney would ever have, and he had ruined it because he was scared, so wrapped up in what other people thought of him that he wouldn’t even ask Geno to take that risk with him. But even knowing it, even identifying his fear and the source of it, that deep old searing rotten shame about being an omega, didn’t give him the courage he would need to do anything differently.

“Okay, Sid?” Sheary asked.

“Yep,” Sidney said. “Just fine.”

His mom brought up Geno again when they were making dinner that night. “He’s been doing so well with the media, honey,” she said, washing greens for a salad. “I’ve been really impressed. That Jen sure knows her stuff.”

“What?” Sidney said.

“You know he doesn’t watch those interviews, Trina,” Sidney’s dad said.

“I know he doesn’t,” his mom said, “but surely Geno mentioned—well, at any rate, he’s doing a great job handling everything.”

Sidney kept carefully chopping an onion. “What sort of stuff are they asking him?”

“Oh, all sorts of things about being bonded to you,” she said. “Very invasive questions, if you ask me, but he just laughs it off. He makes everything a joke, so then the reporters are laughing, and they have a funny line for their stories, but he hasn’t really told them anything. It’s very deft.”

“Especially when his English is still so bad,” his dad said.

“His English is fine,” Sidney said. 

“It’s not _great_ ,” his dad said. “He needs to work on it if he wants to step up his media presence.”

“I don’t think Geno wants to step up his media presence, dear,” Sidney’s mom said. “You know he’s always been happy to let Sidney take the limelight.”

Sidney couldn’t handle this conversation. “What kind of pasta do you guys want? I’ve got spaghetti and rotini. Or I have some of that whole wheat kind you like, mom.”

“Oh, the whole wheat, please,” she said, and they didn’t talk about Geno again for the rest of the night.

His parents stayed in Pittsburgh the next day when the team flew to New York for a game against the Islanders. Geno sequestered himself at the front of the plane with his headphones and refused every attempt to rope him into a card game, and Sidney felt guilt eating away at his guts, bright and corrosive. 

But Geno seemed fine on the ice when they skated, and fine at lunch afterward, laughing and loudly dragging Phil about his admittedly terrible fantasy football team. Geno had been keeping the bond closed since L.A., so Sidney didn’t have any insight into how he was truly feeling, but it made him both glad and horribly, spitefully bitter to think that Geno was moving on already, putting Sidney behind him and getting on with the rest of his life.

He found Geno alone in a back hallway before the game, listening to music and doing some stretches. Barclays Center was a confusing interwoven warren of tunnels, but it was a great place to find a quiet corner to be alone. Sidney sat on the floor next to Geno and waited until Geno slid his headphones down around his neck.

“Sorry,” Sidney said, apologizing both for the interruption and for probably breaking Geno’s heart. “I need to ask you—uh. My parents are in town this week.”

“Spit it out, Sid,” Geno said, sounding weary.

Sidney’s stomach roiled. “My mom wants you to have dinner with us. On Friday. If that’s—I’ll understand if you don’t want to…”

“It’s fine,” Geno said. “Text me time.” He raised his hands to put his headphones back on.

“Wait,” Sidney said. “I wanted to—my mom said you’ve been talking to the media about me.”

Geno looked at him, wariness in every line of his face. “They ask me about you, so yes, I talk.”

“I’m not—I’m not mad, Geno,” Sidney said. “I wanted to thank you. For doing that. And apologize. They shouldn’t be asking you about the bond. I know that isn’t, uh. What you signed up for.”

Geno shrugged, looking down and toying with the cord of his headphones. “Stupid people, ask me stupid questions about you. It’s okay. No big deal.”

“Still,” Sidney said. “Thank you.”

“Welcome,” Geno said, still looking away, and he did put his headphones on then, and Sidney got up and went to make himself a sandwich.

\+ + +

Geno was, perhaps for the first time in his life, exactly on time for dinner on Friday. He was wearing a nice blue shirt that Sidney had always liked, and holding a bunch of tulips.

“For mama,” he said, a little defensively, in response to Sidney’s raised eyebrows.

“Oh,” Sidney said. Right. Of course. “Thanks. They’re—she’ll like them.”

Sidney’s mother _loved_ the tulips. She dug around in Sidney’s cabinets for a vase, talking the whole time about how much she adored fresh flowers and wasn’t Geno so thoughtful to have brought something, on and on until Geno looked tense around the eyes. Sidney recognized his mother’s nervous babbling, although not the cause for it, and finally interrupted her by saying, “What can I get everyone to drink?”

Everyone wanted wine. Sidney opened a bottle of a nice red he had been saving and brought out the appetizers, puff pastry tarts that he hoped his mother wouldn’t realize were from the freezer section. His parents had met Geno before, but only as a teammate, not in whatever strange liminal guise he inhabited now, intimate without intimacy. Sidney was aware that Geno could probably pick up on everything he was feeling, and it made him feel horribly vulnerable but also— _seen_ , known. It gave him an odd sense of comfort to think that at least Geno knew how much he meant to Sidney.

Geno looked at him over the rim of his wine glass. Sidney imagined walking over there, taking the glass from his hand, and kissing his red mouth. It would be so easy.

“—isn’t that right, Sidney?” his father asked, and Sidney nodded and said, “Yeah, for sure.”

Dinner was fine. They made light conversation about the Islanders game, which they had lost, and the Stars game, which they had won; and about Sidney’s pot roast, which even he had to admit had turned out pretty well. It was Nathalie’s recipe, and she had taught Sidney to make it, painstakingly, during his rookie year, when he didn’t know the difference between a bulb of garlic and a clove.

After dinner, though, after Sidney served dessert and refilled everyone’s wine glasses, and Geno told two funny and only mildly embarrassing stories about things Sidney had done in the locker room, Sidney’s dad leaned back in his chair and said, “I’d like to talk to you boys seriously for a moment.”

There it was. Sidney wasn’t anywhere near drunk enough for this.

Geno leaned back in his own seat, mimicking Sidney’s dad’s posture and one-upping him with a lazy elbow on the back of the chair. Sidney experienced a surge of gratitude. Maybe he and Geno weren’t on the best terms right now, but Geno wasn’t going to leave him to dangle alone.

“I have to admit, I was very concerned when Sidney first told us about this bond,” his dad said. “But it doesn’t seem to have hurt his game at all. Sidney, you’re playing some of the finest hockey of your career, and your mother and I are very proud.”

“Thanks, dad,” Sidney said, as he was supposed to.

His father smiled at him, and then turned to Geno. “My question for you, Geno, is what your intentions are toward my son.”

Sidney inhaled some wine and started coughing, and Geno reached over to pat him on the back. _Intentions_? “We’re not— _dad_. I told you the bond isn’t real.”

Geno’s hand stilled, and then lifted away.

“Well, why not?” Sidney’s mom asked. “You two obviously like each other, you get along well, and you’re—well, Sidney, you aren’t getting any younger, and maybe it’s time to start thinking about—”

“Start thinking about _what_ ,” Sidney said flatly.

“Well, marriage,” his mother said. “Starting a family.”

Sidney looked back and forth between his parents, their seemingly earnest expressions, and turned to look at Geno beside him. Geno was hiding behind his wine glass again, and Sidney couldn’t read him at all.

“I can’t believe you’re both—guys, come _on_ ,” Sidney said. “You know I’m not going to get married until after I retire.”

But his dad looked confused. “Why not? Do you not want to?”

“I—Jesus Christ,” Sidney said, pushing back from the table.

“Sidney,” his mom chided.

“Sorry,” Sidney said, and went back into the kitchen to get another bottle of wine, and give himself a few moments to breathe and think about what he was going to say.

They all three looked worried when he went back into the dining room. His hands shook when he tried to open the wine, and Geno gently took the corkscrew and did it for him, and filled Sidney’s glass almost to the top.

“Sit,” Geno said, drawing him down into his chair.

Sidney fiddled with the hem of the tablecloth, hidden beneath the table’s surface. “Dad, when I—when I was growing up. You always told me that hockey came first. Before everything. I couldn’t let myself get distracted. No girls, no boys, and absolutely no alphas. I had to make everyone forget that I’m an omega. I had to be perfect. If I ever screwed up, even a little bit, I wouldn’t be allowed to keep playing hockey.”

His dad was frowning. “Well, sure—I told you that when you were _ten_ , and there were no omegas in the NHL. But now, with all you’ve accomplished—Sidney, you can’t possibly tell me you still think someone’s going to kick you out of the league.”

He pinched a fold of the tablecloth between his fingers, creased it with his thumbnail. “I’ve never dated. I’ve never had a relationship. I’ve been on suppressants since I was fifteen, and the doctor told me that I’m—that it’s going to start hurting my—my fertility. And I never questioned it, I always did exactly what you told me, because I—because of how much I wanted to play hockey.”

Geno lifted a hand to clasp his shoulder in silent support, and that careful touch almost undid him.

His dad and his mom were looking at each other. “Troy,” his mom said.

His dad drew in a breath. “Sidney, I have to admit that I’m—very surprised. I didn’t know you felt this way. You’ve always been so self-sufficient, and we thought you just weren’t interested in dating, for whatever reason. But if you’ve wanted to this whole time, and you were holding back because you thought we would _disapprove_ —well, that isn’t the case at all.”

Sidney shook his head. “It’s everyone. It’s you and it’s everyone, it’s—the fans, management, my teammates, the other players, the _press_ , it would be so much easier for everyone if I weren’t an omega, and I—I know everyone has always wished I weren’t, and—”

He couldn’t continue. He was near tears by then, and he had already humiliated himself almost completely. He wouldn’t put the final nail in that coffin by sobbing in front of his parents and _Geno_. He stood again and said, “Sorry, I—I need a minute.”

He went into the kitchen and pressed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes. From the dining room, he heard a chair scrape across the floor, and then a furious whispered conversation. God, he wished they would just leave him alone, he couldn’t talk to his parents any more, not right now, when he felt like every inch of his skin had been peeled away, leaving all of his nerve endings exposed to the air.

He heard footsteps, and the creak of that one floorboard by the breakfast bar. “Sid,” Geno said quietly, and wrapped his fingers around Sidney’s wrists, and gently drew Sidney’s hands away from his face.

He couldn’t imagine what he looked like. Geno’s mouth twitched into a frown. “Oh, Sid,” he said. He brought Sidney’s hands to his chest and left them resting there, and cupped Sidney’s face with his big palms, running his thumbs along Sidney’s cheekbones. 

“Geno, I’m sorry,” Sidney whispered, and Geno folded him into his arms and held him while he gave in, finally, and wept.

\+ + +

His parents retired to the guest suite with promises that they would talk more tomorrow, and Geno took Sidney upstairs to his bedroom and undressed him like a child.

“How much of that did you follow?” Sidney asked, as Geno unbuttoned his shirt.

“Most,” Geno said. “Everyone upset, talking fast, but I’m listen hard, I know it’s important, and—” He stopped, looking embarrassed. “Bond helps. I know what you feel, makes it little bit easier if I don’t know all words.” He pushed the shirt from Sidney’s shoulders and reached down to unbutton his pants.

Sidney’s eyes felt puffy. His face hurt from crying. But he felt so much better, like he had drained an infected wound, and it could heal clean now. And Geno kept watching him with that expression of soft concern, and he hadn’t given any indications of leaving. Raw hope bloomed in Sidney’s heart, thin and clear as the first glaze of ice across a pond.

Geno worked Sidney’s pants and boxers down past his knees, and then tapped his hip and said, “Sit.” Sidney obediently sat on the edge of the bed, and Geno knelt at his feet and untied his shoes and pulled them off, and took off his socks, and pulled his pants down and off. 

“Will you stay the night?” Sidney asked. “I know I don’t really have any right to ask you that—”

“I stay forever,” Geno said firmly, and then went a little pink and added, “Or until you say to go home.”

Sidney bent down and kissed him, pouring his whole heart into it, everything he had to give, and Geno kissed him back.

It was late. Geno tucked him under the covers and took off his own clothes, stripping efficiently and folding his shirt with more care than he usually took. Well, he would have to face Sidney’s parents in the morning; maybe that was motivation enough.

Sidney’s eyelids were drooping. “There are a lot of things we need to talk about,” he mumbled, as Geno climbed into bed beside him and rested a hand on Sidney’s hip. 

“Yes,” Geno said. “But not now. Tomorrow.” He kissed Sidney’s temple, and Sidney closed his eyes and sank down into sleep.

His alarm woke him in the morning. Geno was sprawled on his stomach, taking up at least three quarters of the bed. Sidney watched him for a minute, every well-known well-loved inch of him, his eyes crusted with sleep and his hair hopelessly rumpled. And Geno would roll into skate looking just like that, fining anyone who chirped him about his bedhead. 

“Don’t stare,” Geno grumbled into his pillow, eyes still closed.

“I can’t help it,” Sidney said, and he loved Geno so much, more than he had ever known he could love another person.

Geno turned onto his side to face Sidney, and reached out to comb his fingers through Sidney’s own bedhead. Sidney felt the bond open to him for the first time in weeks, and his heart flip-flopped in his chest from the force and texture of Geno’s emotions.

“Yes,” Geno said, and scooted in to kiss him, morning breath and all. 

“How do you do that?” Sidney asked, a little while later. They couldn’t linger much if they wanted to make it to skate on time, but he couldn’t resist a few final stolen moments in bed. “Turn the bond on and off like that. I can’t do it.”

Geno shrugged. “I imagine it like, uh, like tap,” he said, miming turning off a faucet. “Easy. Close, open, open little bit, whatever I like.” He grinned. “You keep open all the time, lots of water coming through. Flood your house like that, Sid.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Sidney said, crabby at being teased. “It isn’t like anyone taught me how to do these things.”

Geno’s expression shifted; Sidney could feel his dismay. “They teach in school, Sid. Even in Canada, I think.”

“I didn’t think I would ever get bonded,” Sidney said. “I didn’t pay attention. The teachers were always—well, they had some interesting ideas about omegas.”

“Oh, Sid,” Geno said. “I teach you, okay? It’s not fair if I know always how you feel and you can’t turn off. It’s important you can be private.” He shook his head. “How you’re so good, so—Sidney Crosby, always know right thing to say, right thing to do, smart and careful, how you’re like this when nobody ever takes good care with you?”

“You have,” Sidney said, largely to get Geno to kiss him again.

It worked for a moment, and then Geno took Sidney’s face in his hands and said fiercely, “ _I_ am glad you’re omega. Always. I never wish you’re beta. If you’re not omega then you can’t be mine.”

“You’re the only reason I’ve ever been glad,” Sidney said.

Geno squeezed his eyes shut and said, “Have to go now or we’re late,” and smacked Sidney on the hip and got out of bed.

\+ + +

He let Geno drive them to the rink because they were, after all, running late, and handed Geno the travel mug of coffee only at red lights, ignoring all of Geno’s whining about it. “Eyes on the road, Malkin,” he said, and Geno laughed and said, “Bossy. I like.”

It was an overcast day, still above freezing. Geno hadn’t closed off the bond yet, and Sidney felt the clean uncomplicated contentment rolling off him in waves. “What happens next?” Sidney asked, reluctant to disturb Geno’s good mood, but he needed to know.

Geno glanced at him. “What do you want?” 

It was a fair question. Geno had already laid all of his cards on the table, and Sidney owed it to him to return the favor. “I want to try a relationship,” he said. “If you still want that.” He couldn’t bear to look at Geno, and turned to watch the cars passing by in the right lane. “I want to be with you. I want to live in the same house, and go on vacations together, and—all of it.”

Geno’s joy felt as warm and massive as the sun. “Yes. I want, too.”

Sidney gathered up all of his courage. “And I’d like—children. Someday. I don’t know when, since I would lose a whole season, probably, and more than that to get back into shape afterward, so maybe if I—depending on when I retire—”

“Sid,” Geno said, cutting off his babbling. “We have time. You’re not so old. And we can—I don’t remember word. Kids who don’t have family—”

“Adoption,” Sidney said. “You would be okay with that? Even though I’m able to—”

Geno rolled his eyes. “ _Yes_ , Sid. It’s my idea, of course I’m okay. Why we have to decide this right now? We’re bond for one month, already you planning out next fifteen years. Maybe we get sick of each other in six months and it’s over. Stop worry.”

“You’re right,” Sidney said, and drew in a breath and let it out again. 

“Okay, now I say what I want,” Geno said. “I don’t want to keep secret. I like to show you off, kiss you in locker room, not worry who sees. I know you think it makes too many problems, but I don’t care. Reporters ask nosy questions, I don’t care. Fans get mad, I don’t care. But I know _you_ care. But this is what I want. And if you say no, then we break bond and I’m very sad, but I’m sad too if you say we have to hide.”

Sidney considered this. Geno was right that he cared, but—reporters would always be nosy. The fans would never be perfectly happy unless the team won the Cup every single year. And if Geno was willing to put up with the extra attention, Sidney had to respect that as his choice and not try to talk him out of it. It wasn’t like Geno didn’t know what he was getting himself into. 

“Why don’t we talk to Jen later,” he suggested. “She’ll be able to help us decide how to handle it.”

“Okay,” Geno said. He stopped at a red light, and reached over to squeeze Sidney’s hand. “Smartest, best. Give me coffee now, please.”

“So polite,” Sidney murmured, and handed over the mug.

They met with Jen after skate and before lunch. She sat down with them in her messy office and moved a stack of papers aside to make room for her coffee cup and a notepad. “What’s up, guys?”

Sidney considered how best to broach the topic, and then decided just to go for it. “Remember how you told me that if Geno was ever more than a teammate, we could change the strategy? Well—we’re ready to change the strategy.”

Jen stared at him for a moment, and then stared at Geno, and then a smile crept across her face, and she raised one hand to cover it. “Well. I do remember saying that, yes.”

Geno slung an arm around the back of Sidney’s chair, casually possessive, and _smirked_ , the complete asshole.

“Let’s talk strategy,” Jen said.

Jen’s strategy, it turned out, was based on the principle of not giving a fuck. “None of this should be newsworthy,” she said. “You’re an omega, you got bonded, you and Geno are madly in love, and none of this has anything to do with hockey. People are going to talk, but who cares? We as an organization are responsible for controlling the narrative about us, and our narrative on this issue is going to be that it’s _not_ an issue, and that anyone who tries to make it an issue is a retrogressive prude. That said, expect more attention, more photographs, more fans bothering you in public, that sort of thing. For Geno especially, I expect this will be a big change.”

Geno grimaced, looking a little hunted. “Sid is worth it,” he said determinedly.

She smiled. “Good answer. As for the rest of it, it’s up to you guys how you want to proceed. Do you want to do another press statement?”

Sidney shook his head. “I thought that was necessary because it affected my ability to play, but this—I don’t really want to talk about my personal life with the media.”

“Okay, so then carry on with business as usual and we’ll deal with things as they come,” Jen said. “I’ll keep you in the loop if anything major comes up, and please alert me to anything you notice or have concerns about. I’ll have you guys do press on alternating nights for a while so I can be there to play bad cop.” She paused. “I don’t want to downplay this: there’s definitely going to be an outcry. But I sat down with management when you guys first got bonded, and the organization is behind you one hundred percent. Things will probably suck for a while, but I don’t anticipate anything you won’t be equal to dealing with.”

Geno moved his hand to grip the back of Sidney’s neck. “I’m going to give him big mark, Jen,” he warned. “Right on neck, where everyone sees.”

“Are you planning to do this before the game tonight?” Jen asked, apparently taking this announcement totally in stride.

“Yes,” Geno said, nodding. “Very big. See it on ice, in locker room. Everyone notice. Lots of talk about mark. Crosby and Malkin, true love? Only fucking? Hard to say, need to talk about it lots, imagine all different choices.”

“Geno,” Sidney groaned, his cheeks hot. “Is this really necessary?”

“Yes,” Geno said stubbornly, and folded his arms. “It’s alpha thing. Don’t ask question.” It could have been a joke, but Sidney could feel through the bond that Geno _really_ meant it, that he was disgruntled about it for some reason and completely sincere about wanting to give Sidney the world’s largest claim mark.

“Okay,” Jen said, her mouth twitching with a smile. “Noted. I’ll prepare myself for the inquiries. And Twitter. Oh, God, Twitter.”

“Sorry, Jen,” Sidney said.

Geno, arms still folded, didn’t look sorry at all.

\+ + +

The promised claim mark was delivered that afternoon in Geno’s bed, when they were supposed to be napping.

“Oh,” Sidney breathed out, as Geno sucked on his neck and ground their hips together. “Geno—”

Geno used his grip on Sidney’s hair to tug his head further to one side, giving Geno better access to his throat. They were both still in their underwear, and Sidney was about to come in his boxers like he hadn’t since he was a teenager. The friction of the fabric against the head of his dick was driving him out of his mind, and Geno had the bond opened all the way and was shoving all of his sex feelings in Sidney’s direction. Geno smelled incredible, and incredibly turned on. Nobody could be expected to hold out under circumstances like that.

Geno pulled back for a moment to consider the mark he was making, and then, evidently deciding it still wasn’t huge or obvious enough, went back to work.

“Geno,” Sidney moaned, and dug his fingers into Geno’s back.

They did sleep eventually, and woke tangled together in the sheets. Sidney lay curled around a pillow and watched drowsily as Geno dressed in a very nice navy suit. “I’ll wear navy, too,” he said. “We’ll match.”

“Good,” Geno said. He came over to graze his fingers against the bruise on Sidney’s neck. It was already tender, and Sidney leaned into the touch.

“Geno,” he said. “You, uh. It seemed like you were taking that mark pretty seriously.”

“Yes,” Geno said, scowling. “It’s bad for me when we have bond but you don’t smell like me, don’t have my mark.” He broadcasted a thin stream of embarrassment. “Maybe I do a little too much.”

“It’s too late now,” Sidney said. He brought his fingers to the mark; it was warm, slightly raised from the skin. “And anyway, I like it.”

Geno groaned and turned away. “Put clothes on. We’ll go to your house, you change, we say hello to parents, sorry I kidnap your son.”

“They don’t expect to see me much on a game day,” Sidney said, although he did feel a little guilty for blatantly ditching them.

He got out of bed and put his clothes on—they had managed to get rid of their underwear before it was too late, and Sidney was very grateful for that now—and trailed Geno around the house while he packed his bag and searched for his keys. 

“Stop follow,” Geno said after a few minutes. “You make me nervous. Under feet, like cat. Sit here.” He put Sidney on a bench in the foyer. “Stay.”

Sidney yawned and checked his phone. He texted Mario to ask if they could meet before the game, because he didn’t want Mario to be blindsided by Sidney’s hickey on the Jumbotron. Duper had emailed him some pictures of the kids; Sidney looked them over and replied with appropriately fawning adjectives.

“Okay, let’s go,” Geno said, keys in his hand. He looked grouchy, and was oozing grouchiness through the bond.

Sidney rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you put them in the same place every time? Get a dish to keep here on the sideboard and then you’ll always know where they are.”

“No Crosby advice,” Geno said. “Let’s _go_.”

Sidney retaliated by leaving Geno downstairs with his parents while he changed into his suit, and when he went down again to collect Geno, he was appropriately subdued. Sidney’s parents, unfortunately, looked delighted, and his mother actually hugged Geno before they left.

“What did you do to them?” Sidney asked, getting back into Geno’s car.

“It’s secret,” Geno said, terribly smug.

He waited until the feelings he was getting from Geno evened out into a sort of beige neutrality, and then he said, “I want you to know that I’m sorry. For going over to your house on Sunday. That wasn’t fair. But mostly for telling you that I wanted to break the bond. It wasn’t true. I was just—I didn’t know what to do.”

“I know,” Geno said, and sighed. “We talk about this now?”

“Yes,” Sidney said stubbornly.

“Fine, okay,” Geno said. “Yes, it’s hard for me. I won’t say it’s not. I’m angry, but more hurt, feel very terrible, make Gonch listen to me be sad, drink too much vodka. But it’s my fault. I know how you are when I say yes to bond. You’re like hard to touch, you don’t let anyone get near. Always friendly, easy to get along, but always like you’re somewhere else. But I want to be near, so I say yes.”

“You wanted—for how long?” he asked, trying to wrap his head around what Geno was telling him. A crush, Geno had said, but Sidney thought he meant _years_ ago, back when they were just kids. “You were interested in me? Why didn’t you ever say something?”

Geno drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “You’re not safe for me,” he said. “I know first time I see you. Smell too good, want too much. Not safe. You don’t want date, don’t want relationship, and I know we’re bond-compatible. Can’t have you, so I stay away.”

“But the Cup—”

“Mistake,” Geno said. “Young, stupid. I’m mess up.”

Sidney swallowed. “You make it sound like you were _pining_ for me.”

Geno looked baffled. “Pine, like tree?”

“What—no, sorry,” Sidney said, smiling. “Pining is like… you can’t have someone, so you think about them all the time and wish you could have them and are sad about it.”

Geno made a hilariously outraged face. “No, I’m not _pining_ , Sid. I’m have Oksana, Kirill, Anna, I love them all very much, not sit around in dark room and cry about can’t have Sidney Crosby. But you always—” He tapped at his chest. “You always in here, little bit. And then I’m single, and I think about more.” He shrugged. 

“So you said yes,” Sidney said wonderingly. “When I asked you to bond. Because you were _curious_ about me.”

“No, I’m always like you,” Geno said. “You’re best hockey player, and good person, very good ass. Talk too much on the bench during games, but nobody is perfect. But then we bond, and I learn your heart, and then I love you.”

“Oh, Geno,” Sidney said, filled with remorse. He had sat on Geno’s ugly sofa and _lied_ to him, and Geno had been so sad he cried to Gonch about it.

“It’s okay,” Geno said. “You mess up, but I mess up too, I yell and let you say stupid things and leave my house. But I think I understand now. What you say to your parents, that helps me. I know you have those feelings, but don’t know why, don’t understand why you’re so scared. But maybe now I understand.”

“It helped me,” Sidney said. “To say those things. And for you to hear them.” 

“Okay,” Geno said, and then gave Sidney a shy sidelong look, wholly out of character and unexpected and so wonderful because of it, and said, “Will you say to me?”

Sidney could feel his wistful hopefulness through the bond, and he pushed back with every bit of joy and gratitude and affection he could muster and said, “Zhenya, I love you.”

\+ + +

He told Mario that afternoon before the game, and Mario hugged him and said, “I’m so happy for you. Bring him the next time you come for dinner.”

“I’ll see if I can get him to wear a decent shirt,” Sidney said, smiling.

“No need,” Mario said. “I think he’s family now.”

Geno was waiting for him in the empty change room, legs stretched out in front of him, typing rapidly on his phone. He glanced up when Sidney came in, and Sidney got to watch the way his face changed, like he could relax his guard now that Sidney was there.

“Good talk?” Geno asked, holding one arm out in invitation, and Sidney went over and sat down beside him and tucked himself against Geno’s side. 

“It was good,” Sidney said. “He’s happy for us. He wants you to come to dinner.”

Geno groaned. “Meet one papa is bad enough, now I have to meet other papa? Sid!”

“Oh, shut up, you already know Mario,” Sidney said. He got up and changed out of his suit and into his base layers, conscious the whole time of Geno watching him with lazy appreciation. 

“Mark looks very good,” Geno said, shifting his feet around, and Sidney glanced down at the bulge in Geno’s shorts and licked his lips, and Geno said, “Yes, _come here_.”

“No way,” Sidney said, and then hesitated. Geno was _very_ tempting. “Well. Maybe just for a few minutes.”

“Mm,” Geno said, eyes hot, and Sidney kissed him until he knew they had to either stop or give up on the game and go home.

He planned to tell Flower and Tanger after two touch, but instead they cornered him in the equipment closet, probably drawn like moths to the flame of his claim mark, which was even worse than he had originally feared, a vibrant unmistakable purple bruise the size of a child’s hand. “Are we being happy for you, or sad?” Flower asked.

“I hope you’ll be happy,” Sidney said, and told them about what had happened, and they both hugged him, with enough manly back-slapping that everyone could ignore the way Flower teared up a little.

“I want to apologize to you guys, and thank you,” he said, after the exclaiming and congratulating had died down. “I was an asshole to you the other day at Flower’s, and I’ve probably been an asshole for a while. But it really helped me to talk with you, even though I know it probably didn’t seem like it at the time. You guys have been good friends to me for a long time, and—yeah. Thank you.”

“Aw, Sid, I’m going to cry again,” Flower said, and Tanger groaned and said, “My God, man, you’re more emotional than my toddler!”

Geno had been pacing in the hallway outside for several minutes, and he came over then and knocked on the door and called, “Time is up, I want Sid back.”

“Sorry,” Sidney said. “He’s been acting sort of… clingy.” Geno had been escorting him around all afternoon with a hand on his back, and had actually tried to follow Sidney into Mario’s office before Sidney put his foot down. 

“Welcome to the rest of your life, my friend,” Flower said, and patted Sidney on the back.

“I hope it is,” Sidney said. “I hope it’s for the rest of my life.”

“Oh, God, get me out of here before I weep like a baby,” Flower said, scrabbling desperately at the lock on the door.

Later, when the team was changing before warmup, Geno stood up and banged his water bottle against his stall until everyone shut up. “I have announcement,” he said, and he went over to Sidney’s stall and drew Sidney to his feet and kissed him with way more tongue than was probably appropriate. Sidney didn’t care at all what was appropriate. He wrapped his arms around Geno’s neck and listened to his teammates laughing and wolf-whistling and knew without a doubt that he led a charmed life.

\+ + +

Over the bye week, instead of breaking the bond, they went to Tulum. Sidney wasn’t really a tropical beach vacation kind of guy, but Geno absolutely was, and Geno had won the argument about it by pulling a series of very greasy moves, including booking plane tickets without consulting Sidney first. But he couldn’t stay mad when the end result was getting to watch Geno swan around in a pair of tiny swim trunks for a week.

“Beach is much better than _Colorado_ ,” Geno said, his voice dripping with disdain. They were lying on a pair of recliners near sunset, drinking some pre-dinner cocktails and watching the light fade over the water. The sand stretched into the distance, white and soft as baby powder and washed by gentle waves. Sidney had to admit it was pretty nice.

“Doesn’t it get boring after a while?” he asked, mostly to be contrary. “Doing nothing but lying on the beach all day.” Three days in, they really had done nothing but sleep, screw, and swim, more or less in that order.

“No, lots of things to do here,” Geno said. “Look at ruins, go snorkel, go scuba dive, swim in cenote. Maybe nightclub, dancing. You only think it’s boring because we fuck twice a day and then you say, oh Zhenya, you wear me out, need to eat lots and take a nap.” He let his chin flop down to his chest and imitated snoring.

Sidney laughed. “You fell asleep _on top of me_ this afternoon, so I don’t want to hear it.” 

“Yes, you wear me out,” Geno said, leering, and Sidney flushed hot at the memory of Geno sliding his lubed-up dick between Sidney’s thighs and then licking his own come off Sidney’s skin.

“Maybe tomorrow we’ll go see the ruins,” he said, refusing to let Geno’s teasing get to him, but when tomorrow arrived he was much more interested in putting Geno face-down on the bed and fucking him until he forgot how to speak English, and in the end they never did make it to the ruins.

Flying back to Pittsburgh was a harsh return to reality. Jen hadn’t overestimated the increased attention from fans and the media alike. They had a brief layover in Atlanta, and even with their baseball caps and sunglasses, he and Geno were photographed and stopped for autographs way more than was typical. Geno started off strong, joking around with fans and kissing babies, but by the time they finally touched down in Pittsburgh and waded through the crowds in the airport, he was visibly flagging.

“How are you holding up?” Sidney asked him on the drive home.

“Okay,” Geno said. He exhaled heavily. “It’s a lot, Sid.”

“I know,” Sidney said, and then bit his tongue to keep himself from apologizing; there was no reason to have that fight again. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Geno reached over and squeezed Sidney’s thigh. “It’s a lot, but I’m not sorry. I make decision, and I don’t regret. You’re worth it, always.” At the next red light, he leaned over and gave Sidney a kiss, and sent him a gentle stream of long-suffering resignation and love and acceptance. “Good you don’t say again how it’s your fault and we can break bond if I can’t handle.”

“Yeah, well, you ratted me out to Flower, Nathalie, _and_ my mother,” Sidney said. “Do you know how many lectures I got that week?”

“Yes, they all tell me,” Geno said, and the bond glowed with his self-satisfaction.

Practice the next day quickly devolved into social hour, with everyone full of stories about what they had done on their vacations. Sidney listened attentively to anecdotes about sunburn, golf, museums, jellyfish, and Rusty’s cousin who couldn’t hold his liquor. 

“How was Tulum?” Sheary asked him. “Did you and Geno have a good time?”

“Well,” Sidney said.

Cullen started laughing. “Kid, they didn’t see anything but the inside of their hotel room.”

“That’s not true,” Sidney said. “We went to the beach a lot.”

“Yeah, I bet you had a lot of fun _going to the beach_ ,” Hagelin said, waggling his eyebrows.

Sidney was spared any further chirping by Sullivan blowing his whistle and yelling, “Line rushes, let’s go!”

Geno skated by to brush his hand against Sidney’s lower back, just in case someone had forgotten within the last fifteen minutes that Sidney belonged to him. Sidney was currently sporting three marks of varying hues and intensities on his neck, and there were a dozen more hidden beneath his gear.

Everyone ignored Geno’s first pass. When he came around again, when they were all waiting to take a turn at a puck-handling drill, Tanger shook his head sadly and said, “I’m sure I was never like this.”

“You were worse,” Kuni said. “From what Catherine tells me.”

“It’s possible,” Tanger conceded. “Don’t worry, Sid, he’ll let up after a while.”

“I don’t think Sid necessarily wants him to,” Kuni said shrewdly, and Sidney stared up at the rafters and pretended he wasn’t blushing.

They played the Lightning the next day. Sidney and Geno arrived at the arena together, split up for the solitary portions of their game-day routines, and then met up again for two touch and their pre-game meals. Geno liked to sit in the kitchen while Sidney made his sandwich so he could monitor the process, offering critiques on peanut butter thickness and knife technique.

“Too much jelly, need to spread more,” Geno said, lounging at the counter like he owned the place.

“I can’t believe you put up with this,” Bonino said. He reached over to steal the peanut butter for his own sandwich.

“Well,” Sidney said, and licked some jelly off his thumb. “He’s really good in bed.”

Bonino laughed pretty hard, like he thought Sidney had made a good joke. Sidney didn’t have the heart to tell him that he really did tolerate most of Geno’s bullshit because he was too well-fucked to mind.

When Bonino left, Geno got up and took the jelly jar from Sidney’s hands and kissed him. It started sweet and segued into Geno sucking a fresh mark onto Sidney’s neck, just below his ear, and ended when Olli came into the lounge and exclaimed, “Not in the kitchen!”

Geno pulled away, laughing, and swatted at Sidney’s ass. “Okay, not in kitchen.” He stroked a thumb along Sidney’s lower lip and murmured, “Later. At home.”

“You’re still doing it!” Olli said.

Later, not at home but lining up in the locker room just before the game, with Geno at his back as always, watching over him, Sidney turned around and said, “Come to my place tonight?”

“Yes,” Geno said, with that fond soft look Sidney loved so much; and then it was time, and they did their handshake, and went out onto the ice.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Penguin Story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13556754) by [eafay70](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eafay70/pseuds/eafay70)




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